The Boy Who Sees Monsters
by Mozu The Mochi
Summary: Craig could see mental illnesses as monsters. He was fine living with that ability, learnt the arts of ignoring the hideous creatures. But when Tweek Tweak — his former bully target — succumbed to depression, his monster started haunting him too. It was Craig's decision to fix the broken blond, but was he capable on doing so? CREEK, ANGST. YOU ARE WARNED.
1. Prologue

**The Boy Who Sees Monsters**

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 **Part I**

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 **Prologue**

 **Warnings : Are you sure you wanna read this?**

" _Maybe there's more we all could have done, but we just have to let the guilt remind us to do better next time."  
― __Veronica Roth_ _,_ _Divergent_

* * *

Everybody knows about Craig Tucker. Straight, jet black hair tucked underneath a blue chullo with yellow puffball hanging around the top, cold azure eyes which were left uncaring to anyone. And cold and uncaring he certainly was, with a tendency to flip his finger and had the most fights in school, even more than Eric Cartman surprisingly.

Blunt, ignorant, ill-tempered, somewhat handsome Craig Tucker.

In a way, even with his constant obnoxious mien, the noirette was pretty popular in school. He had a whole gang following him around, especially Clyde Donovan — who was a loyalist to him since they were ten, or he was simply just an idiot — and Token Black — like his surname, but hey, the perks were that he was rich and he threw good parties that even the troublemaker gang (Stan's) came occasionally. He dated pretty girls; girls like Bebe Stevens who was practically the queen in the hallways, but they broke it off just last year because she became too demanding, too _bitchy_ — for Craig.

In a way, Craig Tucker was but a good person. Somehow, he was acceptable. Somehow, he was a norm mingling in the crowd. A walking lump of chaotic neutral living in a dysfunctional neighbourhood.

At least, that was the ordinary description of Craig Tucker.

Just a boy who occasionally reeled himself into fights, who used his middle finger the most in the neighbourhood, who had passion and love only toward his numerous versions of Stripe (how he managed to get his hands on similar-looking guinea pigs each time the previous ones faced their demise was somewhat a mystery).

But even boys like Craig Tucker had secrets he kept to his own. Of course, this wouldn't be about inane, foolish keepings like — "Oh hey, I think I might have feelings for Heidi Turner" like Cartman — or something like that. The secret ran deep, it was important to him not to let anyone knows, it was _that_ important.

The fact that Craig Tucker could see mental illnesses.

How did that worked? Mental illnesses were not a form, not a being; _living beings_ : at least to normal people. Mental illnesses were conditions, like cogs in the brains starting to malfunction — theory-wise, it ran deeper than just broken cogs and wires — our brains are much more complex. Still, mental illnesses never did have a solid form, and they never will.

But Craig did anyway.

Monsters.

Ugly monsters lurking, gnawing in a person's mind. Clawed, fanged and downright hideous. Dark, shadowy beasts — gargantuan ones, looming twice Craig's height; tiny midgets, growing like a sprout, these little ones could be meaner than the huge asses, the noirette witnessing them chewing on little pieces of thoughts which slither about like smokes from a person's mind. Some had wings, hovering about in space, their movements languid and slow. Some had countless of eyes, their pupils glaring at Craig as if they _knew_ that he was watching.

He shouldn't be watching.

It was weird.

Normal humans don't see monsters, normal humans doesn't see mental illnesses.

But he had seen them since he was a child, he was five years old and he thought monsters would come from under the bed or the closet, but no — it was when Thomas and Laura Tucker were having a huge argument, Craig witnessed the abuse placed on Laura, by each hits, her short whimpers followed suit. He saw a monster wheezing its way out from her head, as a kid he saw that monster glanced at him, growing bigger and bigger as Laura took a bottle of booze and chugging down its content. Its smile was wide, Cheshire-like with razor sharp teeth showing.

They came from distress.

These creatures only become fully solid when a person was fully diagnosed with a particular condition. When Randy Marsh turned alcoholic, he saw a monster acting like a drunkard itself, the difference was its translucence was starting to add more value to it; almost as if the monster was starting to show itself. Craig could not bear the site, not of a drunk Randy Marsh but to the sight of the monster taking his sanity away.

And the supposedly cold-hearted boy knew of Tweek Tweak.

Finally. . .

Tweek Tweak.

This is where the story begins.

* * *

Craig Tucker and Tweek Tweak.

To pair them both would be very odd indeed. To Craig, at least, it would certainly be very odd. It wasn't as if he had anything against the twitching, golden ball of anxiety; scared emerald green pools with deep circles beneath, and a mass of wild golden hair — not anymore.

Not when the guilt pressing in his chest as he saw the hideous monster lurking from his back, contrasting the continuous quiver from the blond's frail figure.

Tweek was skinny as fuck, the monster however, defined the otherwise. With its height perhaps three times larger than the blond, its movement indicated loads of weight. Tweek walked like he might float in the air, his monster dragged his feet that if it was indeed solid, the drag of its beefy, monstrous feet would roar into the hallways. Though the two of them shared the similarity of being lifeless, like any form of life had been sucked out from Tweek Tweak.

What had happened to the blond?

Craig didn't want to know.

. . . Maybe a little.

. . . Maybe a lot.

In his mind, the memories of junior high sprang back, and he reflected every moments he had came across Tweek Tweak.

When they were thirteen, the noirette had pushed him against the locker — _hard_ — and told the blond to stop hanging out with him and his entire gang. Token was about to ask the reason and protest, but he had been a bastard and bitched about to everyone. The glare, icy and cruel, lingered in the emerald pools. He was terrified, he was _hurt_. Rivulets gushing down in an instant, but Craig left the spot, scoffing.

He didn't remembered the reason.

He couldn't.

When they were fourteen, Craig dumped Tweek's gift into the dumpster, right in front of him. The boy with a chullo ignored the gasp, he pulled away from the cold grasp on the shoulder, and he told Tweek to stay away.

He did.

When they were fifteen, they didn't talk. It was the start of high school. Craig had his bunch of friends, Tweek was all alone.

And now they were sixteen, and Craig knew he was the cause of that hideous monster's growth.

Unfortunately, their lockers were very, very close. Craig felt his body stiffened, the hairs against his neck rose as he felt the intense gaze from blaring, scarlet eyes. Its many eyes, hollow yet left with a linger of a glow reflected against his deep blue ones as he turned, and the noirette gulped before shifting his eyes toward the blond. Tweek didn't look back, he never did anymore.

He gave up trying when they were fifteen.

 _Talk._

Craig wanted to speak, to blurt out a greeting, to lift one hand and reach out and hug the blond and say that he's sorry. He wanted this tightness to end, the bitter in his heart seeing the deadly glare from the murky beast, and he felt like crying the longer he remained in the similar spot. His eyes wavered, Craig felt the nausea pooling in his stomach.

 _W_ _hat have I done? Tweek is. . ._

Depression.

He knew the solid creature, its heavy criteria, its notion to stay silent and weighed Tweek from his head, the occasional whispers which reached his ears. Tweek was depressed, and Craig felt like it was his fault over the years.

Well, it was _his_ fault.

Accidentally, he slammed his locker hard — the said blond yelped and turned to meet blue eyes, widened his own emerald pools and stuttered ; "I. . . I'm sorry. . ." He left immediately.

He apologised to Craig.

For what?

Craig wasn't sure. But he felt bad.

He extended his hand, but held back — lips pursing — and turned his heel to go to the opposite side of the hallway.

Heat reached up to his cheeks, he felt like he was burning. It was just that Craig Tucker did not realise the fact that he was holding back a small tear from the corner of his eyes.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

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 **Mozu : look at me with angsty trash yeesh**

 **Hello! I'm new to this fandom! In FFnet at least, I watched South Park since years ago though but I never thought of writing this. But here I am, so nice to meet you all!**

 **X for love, O for hate!**

 **-Mozu The Mochi (2017)**


	2. One of Part I

**The Boy Who Sees Monsters**

 **Part I**

 **Chapter One**

 **Warning : Are you really sure about reading this?**

 _"And I am nothing if not a stupid, stupid man."_

 _― Paul Auster, Station Hill Blanchot Reader_

* * *

They were thirteen when they had the largest fight. Not that it was their first fist fight ever — oh, he and Tweek fought their first heated battle at the age of ten. They were not even close friends during that time, it was just Stan and his gang trying to win a bet against each other and the bet involved the two of them somehow; a stupid idea indeed. Why they carried along with the notion was a mystery indeed, that or just because Stan, Kyle and Cartman — despite their not chummy relations —were pushovers. And annoying. That moment, young Tweek Tweak was still a meth-laced coffee addict and twice the twitching kid than he was now, but he fought real hard, his small fists colliding to his chin with a huge, bruised impact. However, when they were thirteen, it was completely different. The noirette remembered his head boiling in turmoil, seething as he marched his way to the shaking blond at the opposite side of the playground. Despite the numerous amount of kids loiter here and there, Craig did not bother pushing his way past others, did not bother the clamour rising each stride he took closer to Tweek. Of course, rummaging through the crowd wasn't easy, but each second they noticed the change on his face, slipping through was way easier.

"Craig, dude!" It was Clyde Donovan; the brunet touching his shoulder briefly but he was ignored by the latter. The brunet was still yelling, "What the fuck has gotten into you, man!" But his voice came as a distance, and thus was further ignored by the young boy.

Front to front, Tweek Tweak and Craig Tucker. Thirteen years old. Not fitting at all. The blond was way shorter, it was his tousled mass of golden locks which became the contribution to his height — mostly. The coffee addict kid lifted his chin high to meet upon cold blue gaze, unfaltering and angry and all he could do was whimper. He tried smiling, but it was faltering. Anxious. Concerned.

"H-Hey Craig, w-what's the matter —"

Before he could finish, all he could see was white stars.

A sixteen year old Craig Tucker did not remembered the reason they fought. He remembered punches after punches rolling toward Tweek, he remembered leaving a threat of never touchng him again — pointy finger pressed against a shaking, huffing chest. He remembered Tweek's face, crying and blue from bruises, brows knitted together like he was angry too; but the blond didn't fight back. Tweek never did.

And of all things Craig remembered, he couldn't remember the cause of why he had done it.

Instead, shame was pooling in his gut as he recollected the memory. He glanced at the said blond who sat afar from his own seat, located at the back of the class. Since then, the coffee addict managed to stay clear from him. If he was at the foremost back, Tweek would be at the foremost front —sometimes even near the teacher's desk, even when Craig knew he'd complained about it being way too much pressure.

The noirette tapped his pen against the surface of his desk, sighing from the boredom of AP Lit. The teacher, who was a part-timer and an intern, was timid and quiet and seemed to only be speaking to her own self. There was no point listening to her self-conscious mumbles and constant huffs (she looked tired of speaking, as if she was asthmatic). He opted an observing his entire classmates instead, his vision fully focused on each monsters in the classroom.

Three large ones; Tweek having the largest one somehow. The closest to the blond's monster was Butters', which smiled just as wide as the naive-looking boy — in fact, wider. But Craig could notice the slight shake of anxiety dripping from the murky creature. And the third belonged Kenny McCormick, its solidity might be vague despite its size but the deep anger showing in its one eye contrasted the cool demeanour Kenny displayed to public. The others were small,some appeared only for a brief while before disappearing to God knows where they came from; some didn't have a solidified characteristic but most of them had at least one.

Life was always filled with problems. That was the only way God made everyone fair. By putting bullshit into humans' lives.

Scratch that.

Craig really wanted to talk to Tweek. At the very least, he wanted to apologise.

The monster, yet again, turned its colossal body toward him. Its many eyes lingered upon his own blue — disturbingly —an intense, cold glare. Cold enough, colder than he had ever glared upon someone throughout sixteen years of living; Craig swallowed a nervous lump, his body frozen.

What was this feeling? It was unfamiliar — this unknown fear. Craig had seen multiple monsters throughout the years of his growth, he'd accustomed himself with the sight of obsidian mass of shadows — its long, fatal claws flexing on its hands, oddly bent arms and crooked smile of horror. It was the fear he felt when he first found out that his visions weren't imaginary — it was real. His mother's monster encouraging her alcoholism, then came the monster of delusions singing her false lullabies. The monster attached to his father, bursting in anger.

His chest tightened, Craig wanted to shut his eyes so badly; somehow he couldn't. Navy blue pools against the sheer hollowness, a tinge of dark crimson glow. The beast had a solemn face, never baring its fangs like others did — but the fact that the monster was staring at him gave him the chills in his spine, the shiver against the prick of every hair on his skin.

He was terrified — Craig Tucker, the boy nowhere good, the boy who gave others the cold shoulder and the bird from his middle finger; was beyond terrified.

"—Tucker. . . Craig Tucker!"

 _Oh._

The noirette woke up from his trance, his fingers quivering from the thought. "H-huh, yeah?" He looked around, all his classmates (even Tweek) glanced from their shoulders and straight to his face. Suddenly, he felt so centralised, all eyes on him, and he paled instantly. "Wh-what?"

"You alright, Tucker?" Kenny, who sat a few seats from him, asked, his concern seemed genuine.

"Why would I not be?"

"You're shaking, and you're looking at. . ." the dirty blond trailed off, his eyes peered to the side right to his direction. "So are you sure you're okay, dude?"

The noirette didn't respond, he trailed his eyes to everyone. Blood boiling, the monster was left unfazed and he felt his body reacting once again. He felt that pain in his chest again, and Craig felt like he was going to suffocate each second he was staying in the classroom. The lessons were shitty anyway. "Y-you know what, fuck this," he muttered under his breathe, the tone exhausted, "I'm going out. See ya, dudes. Excuse me, miss. . . whoever you are." The boy with a chullo grabbed the duffel bag at the side of his desk and slither away from the class.

Craig didn't bother the fact that he passed Tweek, the blond stiffened, and he had one hand against the blond's desk, one finger trailing. Lowering his gaze, he met emerald green softened — wavering — and fingers fumbling at his sleeves; before he left permanently.

An ache lingered in his head, the fear slowly dissipating as soon as he left the class. Psychology was next — not that he cared, he was going to skip anyway. And it was tedious to remain lurking in South Park High, it was better that he'd return home.

Still, Craig wanted to talk to Tweek. At the very least, he wanted to apologise. He wanted nothing more but the monster to disappear, the blond to be alright. The tightness in his chest, it was too painful — he wanted _that_ gone, as well.

But fighting depression wasn't easy. It wasn't like playing a game of battling dragons as a team, it takes longer time, difficult steps.

The difficulty in his quest, however, was making Tweek talk.

At long last, the noirette hung around the infirmary, sleeping till the bell rang for lunch and the school nurse ushered him out. Groggily, he was met with Clyde and Token in the cafeteria, they sat along with Jimmy and, surprisingly, Kenny.

"Oh hey, Craig!" Clyde greeted him as usual, patting the spot beside him.

On his left, the dark-skinned boy eyed him with eyes showing concern. "You okay, Craig? Clyde said something about you being sick or something."

"I'm cool," he responded nonchalantly, dumping his lunch tray with a turkey ham sandwich and a milk carton. "I was just exhausted. You know. . . Homework."

The others didn't really took his answer truly, but they said nothing, only continuing their debate about some movie that was going to be released next week and Clyde being a pussy to ask Red for a date. Kenny was the surprising one in the group, sitting along with them yet not quite joining the conversation (only commenting one thing about Red, but it was a short sentence and that was about it).

The dirty blond seemed to have been waiting for him. Hopeful, bright azure eyes landed upon his darker shade — wonder, curiosity and concern. Sounds like a nice person, wasn't it? But Kenny, who belonged in Stan's group, could be just as dysfunctional and crazy as the rest. They were just balanced (and their norm) that way.

It was just his bad luck the empty spot laid opposite of the McCormick boy. Before he could open his mouth first, Craig threw him a question : "What brings you here, McCormick? Aren't you going to hang around the other fuckers?"

"Oh, don't be like that Craig. You don't really hate us, do you?" Kenny grinned, flashing him one of his coquettish wink. The noirette rolled his eyes, opting to ignore such advances. Damn blond got to be bisexual toward everyone (though, everybody knew he had the hots for Butters since eighth grade). Not that he was affected or anything, Craig was more annoyed than anything.

Craig snorted, "Whatever. What do you want from me anyway?"

"How are you so sure that I want something from you?"

 _Ah, shit._ The noirette found his cheeks heating up. "You. . ." _God fucking dammit_. He glanced at Kenny's monster, its eye wasn't focused toward Craig. He wasn't scared of the hideous brute languidly twirling around the blond in an orange parka. That was one sort of wonder running in his mind lately. "You've been eyeing me since I came," a smug pause, "So, what's up?" He quirked one brow, smirking at the bemused smile which faltered slightly.

"You wanna talk somewhere private?"

Craig wasn't one to discuss a matter privately, like how girls would pull each other into one corner and gossip about a girl popping her cherry to the ugliest kid in school. But seeing that it was about Tweek Tweak, the anxious coffee addict with chaotic golden hair and wore unbuttoned shirts — and even when he wanted to help Tweek, talking about it with the rest of his friends (Clyde's going to be a bitch, no doubt) seemed like a bad idea. "Fine. . .C'mere," he motioned Kenny to the hallway, dumping his lunch tray somewhere on the table before the blond followed suit.

The corridor wasn't exactly empty, there were still few students loitering here and there, hall monitors eyeing other students as if they were the principals in the school.

"So, what happened just now in AP Lit?" Kenny started, "You looked like you're having a heart attack."

"It's. . . nothing," Craig bit his lower lip, hands shoved inside his jeans pocket and eyes avoiding contact. What was he supposed to say? _Oh hey Kenny, I can see mental illnesses like monsters. You have one too, latching on your shoulder. They're huge as fuck, you should stop being crazy ha ha._ It was pointless.

But Kenny, with his parka down, scratched his tousled straight hair, stared at him with disbelief. He voiced out his feeling rather bluntly; "Bullshit," it came loud, as a scoff, and it made a junior who passed by jumped at the sudden outburst before scampering away; "I saw you staring at Tweek, Tucker. You looked like you're afraid of him — which you never did. I know what happened back then," he sneered, "No, it's like. . . You're afraid of something which is closer to Tweek. You were _terrified_ , Craig." The blond's thoughts trailed off, his thumb smoothing the growing stubble below his chin.

Craig gulped, his nerves bundled up. This was something he felt rather afraid of Kenny McCormick. Sure, the red-haired Jew, Kyle Broflovski, was the smartest in their grade but the blond in their gang was the most observant — acting more experienced than the other fools, despite being a pervert most of the times.

"It's complicated," he stated with his infamous, monotonous tone.

Instead of what Craig expected as a freak out reaction, the blond pulled his orange parka and mumbled through the hood, scoffing cynically; "Define complicated."

"Huh. . . When did you start getting witty suddenly?"

He only grinned, the mischief glinting on his lips. "Life experiences? It's a really long story," he paused, "But really, I've been through weird stuffs too in my life, and I doubt each of you would believe me if I told y'all about it."

The noirette crooked one brow, he was the one in disbelief now. "So. . . If I told you I could see monsters. Would you believe me?"

Kenny grinned, then a second after, he started to chortle at the question Craig threw him; "Oh Craig. . .If I told you I can't die. Would _you_ believe me?"

* * *

He felt his head hurting more than it should the longer he stayed in school. It was a miracle that he survived throughout the day.

Kenny's rhetorical question (which was originally his in the first place) rang awkwardly in his mind. Not that his monster-seeing ability was supposed to be logical, but he was surprised to found that Kenny was immortal. It was incredulous, of all things that could have happened to him.

 _"So, if you'd kill yourself in front of me right now. I wouldn't remember it even if I tried to?"_

 _Kenny smiled widely, but the glint of melancholy became much obvious each time he stared at the bright azure pools. Craig glanced at the monster, it finally made perfect sense now. "Yeah, I'll kill myself again and again, you won't have the slightest idea."_

It was sad. Two fucked up people, an ability without the ability to proof.

Life was a bitch, alright. But Craig had handled his perfectly fine — all he needed to be was acting as an ignorant fool. Kenny, on the other hand, had to suck it up by feeling pain that he couldn't quite yet express to most people.

But as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck pricking up, eyes settling upon him once again he knew he could not be the same ignorant person ever again.

The noirette found Tweek nervously sorting out the books in his locker, school ended up like ten minutes ago. He reached out to his, playing around with his combinations but his eyes trailed somewhere else : occasionally, he'd be throwing hopeful glances to the shorter male.

Tweek would stare back, and he'd pretend to mess around with his books.

When it was his turn to gaze back, Tweek nervously turned and shrieked under his breathe.

 _Say something._

The words were heavy in his throat. Why had it been so difficult to start a conversation with the coffee addict? When they were children, it was so much easier. When they were thirteen, even if he had been a prick, it was still easy. But now? When he needed to talk to Tweek the most — it wasn't just a simple want — he felt like he had been swallowing stones all along.

Craig cleared his throat, he finally gathered up his spirits as he turned to face the shorter boy.

"Uh. . . Hey —"

The blond perked up, their eyes met briefly before he started whimpering once again. His body let out a full shiver, which startled he could continue, the blond tried to dash away as fast as he could.

"Dude, Tweek!" Craig abandoned his locker, and sprinted to the blond's direction. He grabbed the skinny wrist, and pulled the other into a complete halt. "I need to talk to you!"

"W-why would you need to t-talk to me, Craig?" The shout came out abrupt, and finding the hardness in his voice was embarrassing (at least to him), he pulled his wrist from the loosened grip. Craig wouldn't want to hurt him after all, not anymore.

The boy with a chullo tightened his fists, he could feel Tweek's nervousness being contagious to him. He felt his heart thumping, heavy in his chest, dancing painful steps. Mixed feelings swirling, the anxiety battling with his past determination — no, he was still determined!

Unfortunately, before he could muster a word of apology —Craig opened his lips to see retracing steps — the blond bolted his way for an escapade.

"God fucking dammit!"

But Tweek was fast, he made his way out of the school building and he ran off to the streets without stopping. How he could do so without getting tired was beyond an enigma —even Craig reached the entrance (honestly, his build was much muscular and Tweek was scrawny) whilst puffing out gasps of ionised air.

"Jesus Christ," he cursed under his breathe. The longing became frustration, and he kicked the wooden entrance door with brute force : "Jesus fucking Christ!"

A teacher yelled somewhere far, but he couldn't bother to handle any shit. He flipped the teacher though, he didn't know who, and made his way home.

All he ever wanted was another chance.

Of course, he had to screw the first one. Of course, he had to be a jerk and kicked Tweek's ass and broke off their friendship and made a monster haunting his life.

Of course, nothing good came from Craig Tucker. He was a god damn idiot.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Mozu : Oh boiii I feel bad writing this. It's like. . . Are you sure you wanna read this? XD**

 **Ps I don't know if the format's messy or not. I type this in laptop, but it's hard getting access into the website. FFnet is banned in my country for stupid reasons, so yeah, occasionally I can sneak in. Sometimes, I can't.**

 **Anyway, review please! Comment X for love O for hate! Say what you think, guess what'll happen I dunno! And thanks to those who reviewed first chapter!**

 **-Mozu The Mochi (2017)**


	3. Two of Part I

**The Boy Who Sees Monsters**

 **Part I**

 **Chapter Two**

 **Warning : You've reached this far, but it's not that far yet.**

" _People die all the time. Life is a lot more fragile than we think. So you should treat others in a way that leaves no regrets. Fairly, and if possible, sincerely. It's too easy not to make the effort, then weep and wring your hands after the person dies."_

 _

― Haruki Murakami, Dance Dance Dance

_

* * *

"So, how exactly do these monsters look like?"

Legs occupying the entire cushy seat, Kenny sipping the remnants of his Coke float. It was their third time hanging in the mall, engrossing themselves with fast food using Craig's allowance most of the times, since Kenny didn't have much budget around him. Just because the two of them had fucked up abilities which were beyond logical, they started hanging out together. Well, if taken the context of four days as a long duration on how Craig Tucker could survive a couple of days with perverted, poor and cunning Kenny McCormick, it must have meant something.

The noirette quirked one brow upon his sudden curiosity. Holding one fry, he thought for a while before grabbing a tissue and dipped his fry with ketchup. One minute of drawing against the rough membrane, he handed the tissue to display a crappy drawing of a crooked, organic-looking blob with one eye. A confused Kenny stifled a laugh, heating up the noirette with a blush of shame in the process. "I've tried, okay?" Gritting his teeth, Craig folded his arms against his chest. "For fuck's sake, it's just a drawing!"

Seeing him defending himself for a crappy drawing was even more amusing to Kenny.

"Okay, okay," an attempt of pausing his laughter, "I'm sorry — oh, Jesus Christ!" Kenny breathed in a lump of air before he felt himself suffocating by his own laughter, "Oh god, you might as well kill me now, Craig."

"Jesus, I never said I could draw well!"

"Okay, okay. . ." the laughter stopped, but Kenny might as well maintained the notorious, impish grin of his. "So, um — _oh Jesus_ — care to explain?"

Craig rolled his eyes. The blond with an orange parka would still release a laughing fit if he pointed out his shitty quality of drawing, but he glanced at the monster — huge and nasty but its silence does not intimidate Craig the slightest.

It was just because the beast did not put its sole focus onto him, not targeting him into a prey, not making him into a target that could be mauled within one second of his existence near it.

"They're always black in colour," he started, shifting his eyes away from Kenny's and opted to look at others'; the waitress of this diner had hers almost growing to her own size, but the busy look on her visage seemed to drown every possibilities of a bullshit life. "Sometimes they're vague, or say, if you're _that_ depressed or alcoholic, delusional, _whatever_ — this thing starts appearing more and more solid. It's not like a lump of ghost anymore, it looks _real_."

Kenny raised his brow.

"Sometimes they can grow as large as you, or the biggest I've seen so far," he swallowed, "It's like. . . three times bigger than the person itself. And I've seen what it can do, it doesn't just stand around and dance some shitty cult dance. . ." he stopped, the nausea upon remembering Tweek's started to boil inside him once again.

"What did they do?" The blond pulled the hood of parka tight, having finished his meal, and he was left mumbling like he always do. Not that Craig wasn't used to it, the whole neighbourhood did. What a miracle, that way.

"They feed you with some. . . I don't know, like a black matter. It's not as similar as their body, but it's black as well, like a mist of some sort — god damn, Kenny, I'm serious! They feed you with that, too — go on and laugh at your potential demise," huffing, the noirette continued, "They whisper all their negative thoughts, not that you could hear — I could, and it's tiring and annoying."

"Of all things you could describe, it was annoying," sneered the blond.

"If you've been witnessing at this for a long time, you'll understand that feeling."

Kenny shrugged, "It's okay. When you keep on dying, at some point, you just wish you're fully dead too." His voice turned serious upon the statement. Whenever he mentioned his deaths, there was no more laughing, amused Kenny. It reminded Craig of their childhood when they played superheroes, Kenny as Mysterion did not seemed like Kenny McCormick at all. He really did became someone else. Craig shuddered toward the recollection.

The noirette tucked his chullo, fixing the yellow puffball to its rightful place; and he scoffed with a grin. "Bullshit, isn't it?"

"Yeah," the two of them seemed to stray away with the thought of them succumbing to their own shitty fate, a waitress came by and offered them coffee on which the two of them refused before Kenny decided to have some since it was free, "So," he continued, "What else did they do?"

Craig thought for a moment, looking back at what he actually focused on when he was younger. His mother's monster when he was younger (fortunately, now that he had grown, the monster seemed to shrink but not completely disappearing), his father's, Cartman's pseudo-psychopathy and anger management, witnessing Randy destroying his body with the bitter taste of liquor — they all had one thing in similar, these monsters' actions.

"They ate our sanity."

Kenny nodded in understanding, his lips pursed and he didn't laugh at the retort.

It made sense that way.

* * *

In a way, even when Kenny couldn't see how the monsters like he did, the boy with an orange parka placed his belief fully on his tales. The ash blond claimed that he took a different perspective on judging others now, not that Craig Tucker cared — he could do his thing, and Craig do his own thing.

But it was on the same week, and the sixth meeting — now in Taco Bell — when the second son of McCormick was munching on Chalupa, which was put on Craig's tab again. He grinned innocently at the noirette, but Craig could only respond with an eye roll.

The thing was — they were eating tacos. Simple as that. There wasn't a heavy discussion on Kenny's own mental state or home condition, maybe a brief conversation on how Kevin was going to join Air Force soon. But that was about it. And then, out of a blue, the blond leant closer, pulling his parka tight once again just to allow him had that muffling effect which became the Kenny trademark since he was a preschooler.

"Yo Craig, you wanna see me kill myself?"

Sounds casual, but the reality was not. It was much worst than some random guy in the alley offering you to smoke pot.

"What the fuck?" Craig almost lost his shit right there, right at that moment. Darker blue eyes widened, and he was choking on Crunchy Taco all the way. "Of all things you want to ask me, it's about you wanting me to see you kill yourself? _R_ _eally_ , McCormick? Really?"

The blond scoffed, his own eyes rolled cynically. "Oh please, Tucker. Like that's ever the worse thing you ever heard in your life."

"To put it bluntly, fuck yeah — that's the worst offer I ever received somehow."

"Oh come on, I just — I'm not going to permanently die! Y'know, I've told you several times. I'll just go to this white space and I'll wake up again and I'll be in bed, wearing this orange parka like nothing ever happened."

The noirette gave him an odd look for a brief while, his visage stubborn and in denial, lips parted to a gap — and he was still shook. Craig faced many things in life, and he sure as heck could handle all his problems in a professional manner of not caring; but having a trauma through sight wasn't one that he would want to put in his list.

Still, the boy donning the trademark orange parka looked at him neglectfully, a wishful hope starring on his azure pools and Kenny making the doe-eyed face, it was partially annoying. But his gut was twisting in knots, he felt heavy to refuse the request, not when Kenny had looked so vulnerable and downright desperate.

"I —" he gulped, looking out to the mall instead, as long as he shifted his gaze from the brighter blue, "I don't know, Kenny. . . This is hard for me too. . ."

"Okay, okay —" the blond took a large bite on his second Chapula, he told Craig he hadn't eaten properly since yesterday's lunchtime after all, "How about you look at me kill myself, then I'll help you sort things out with Tweek?"

Upon mentioning that particular name, Craig finally turned to meet the shining blue. Slightly grinning, Kenny was still staring with the negotiation dubious on his face. Craig scowled, he raked his fingers toward the obsidian locks, fixing the chullo hat which was slipping from his head, and puffed out an air of distress. "You're fucking with me, McCormick," his voice stoic, deadpanned but also disbelief, "I just can't believe you'll offer your death in return for fixing my fucking sin."

"It's to show that I'm serious."

"And well, you don't think I am?"

"I just —"

"What makes you so fucking desperate that you wished me to see you blast your head into pieces and watch some reincarnation shit going on, don't you think you're gonna scar me as well? I'm avoiding that one thing — and you. . . I can't believe you're offering me _that_ , Kenny."

The bitter in his voice might have been prominent, _too_ prominent to be true. Flabbergasted, taken by the seriousness in his words as well, the blond remained muted for the rest of their hanging out session. It made Craig felt bad, but it was true.

Sometimes, humans have to be selfish for self-defense. It was the rightful way to protect themselves, and for Craig — to protect himself from the prying eyes of murky, fanged, clawed and hideous beasts. He had enough of the spook from another certain blond's monster. He had enough of the sightings, he wanted them to end but what can he do?

The least he could do in this situation, however, was to refuse.

He still felt bad, but Craig was helpless as well. "Look, I'm sorry — but you know. . ."

The blond, having his Chapula finished, pushed his tray aside, tucked the remnants of ash blond tufts, long and uncut and tousled, into the parka. With complete silence, he got up from his seat and left Taco Bell — didn't pay any heed to the shocked, clueless Tucker who was still frozen to his seat.

Kenny was that hurt.

It somehow pained Craig too, the pain in his chest growing, tightened and drowning him with that familiar feeling of guilt.

Guilt washing him, suffocating — taking away the rest of his mind.

"Jesus Christ," Craig Tucker muttered under his breathe, he dropped his forgotten taco, his gut twisting and appetite long gone.

It felt bitter. He felt betrayed.

* * *

School was still normal without Kenny McCormick loitering around him, bothering him at lunch. Not that he often was around anyway, he was with his own circle of friends and Craig had his.

It had been about one week since school started, Craig didn't have any progress with Tweek unfortunately. He had been wanting to speak, but each time the two of them bumped each other, the blond had been quick to apologise — too quick — and he was always the one to dash like Craig was going to murder him any moment. Behind, the monster trailed along but its crimson eyes did not peel away from Craig until Tweek was at least twenty metres away. The hairs on his neck pricked from the unwanted attention, and the urge to vomit resurfaced.

His fault to begin with.

Craig was still determined, but then when the bump and dash began to become a routine, even the noirette was exhausted. On Wednesday, before his football practice — he rejoined, wanting to distract himself from his monster thoughts — Craig get to corner the blond.

Whenever nearby, Tweek's twitching went twofold. Averting gaze to the floor, the emerald green eyes wore a concerned, pressured look. Craig wanted nothing more but to touch his face, that urge, but he held back before he scared the blond any further.

They did not even pass the talking level yet.

"Finally," he breathed out, "I just wanted to talk to you, Tweek."

The blond said nothing, maybe he opted to stay mute until Craig left him alone. That wasn't going to happen — Craig hoped it wouldn't happen like that. No. . . Not when he worked hard to gather up his courage, then spent almost a week chasing the blond.

All he ever wanted was to give an apology.

"Come on, Tweek. . . I won't. . . hurt — I won't do anything to you," the noirette took out his chullo hat, raking his fingers on obsidian locks, "I just —"

"I t-thought you said to leave you alone for — forever," the blond finally spoke, but the bitter in his voice was clear. Tweek Tweak was talking out of spite, and it was the first time Craig had ever heard. He used to be a whimpering mess, timid and tender in his voice — hushed into nothing more but inaudible tones.

Now, it was different. Now, his voice was hoarse, lower, matured. The stutter was still in his speech, but the tone was hard, cold, a hint of melancholy danced within his voice.

Craig found himself wincing before he could stop himself. The blond might have noticed, for he raised his brow but huffed out a long air of distress within the ionised surrounding. "I — I'm doing my best to do what you told me, Craig. So please. . . you don't have to remind me about it."

"Wait, wait —" Craig accidentally raised his voice, surprise evidently turned to a slight frustration, "Who said anything about leaving me alone — Jesus, no. . . Tweek, I'm not here for that stupid order I made like, two years ago. I'm here to apologise!"

The twitching sunshine-haired boy remained his silence, but the gap of his green eyes was evident enough to show his surprise. Surprise could never be contained, it was a sign of micro expression, something that would always be shown in nature. Lips curling to a small grin, Craig attempted to reach out for his hand. He offered his, lingering on the air, waiting for the respond.

"Sorry?" It almost sounded like a plead. Craig couldn't care less. He wanted the stares to stop.

"I —" Tweek's surprise became confusion. "C-Craig. . . Did you hit your head or something?"

"No, I'm being serious," his grin did not falter, but it certainly became forced, "Hurry up now, my hand is waiting."

Nevertheless, Tweek grabbed the offered hand and shook it slightly. It had been brief but it was a handshake nonetheless. Still, the sorrow in his eyes never seemed to appease. Instead, the monster beside him stirred and the glares became more intense. Tweek noticed the change of Craig's mood, his twitches became erratic — did he do something wrong?

 _No_. . . Craig thought.

Him apologising never meant that he was fully forgiven.

"You know I'm being real, right?"

"I, I guess," the blond shrugged, "It's too sudden, Craig. . . I'm still f-finding myself, g-gah, hard to believe it."

"Give me another chance, please. . ."

"W-what?!"

"I want a chance, please just give me another chance, I just want us to —" Desperation. Tight voice, loud, ringing in both ears. Loud, too loud — others turned, Tweek was intimidated.

At some point, Craig did not realised he had been gripping on one of Tweek's shoulder.

 _O_ _h God_. That was too sudden. Everything about Craig was just out of the blue lately, and perhaps it had been a wrong step to approach Tweek. The shock was too much, the noirette had sworn he was looking straight to a pained expression. Quivering lips, wavering and glossy emerald pools, the flush on his alabaster white skin evidently spreading to the tip of his tears. Tweek's fingers reached his golden curls, he released a sound of distress before muttering his plead to leave. Craig let him go — he made a mistake after all.

Good intentions, wrong steps.

The monster seemed to whisper a few thoughts to the blond, and the noirette swore it was adding to the pile of Tweek's mental state. He felt his guilt rising up again. He let himself stare upon the monster turning to face him, hollow pools sucking him into the abyss of his sins — crimson flashing upon dark blue.

It was telling him, _you fucked up_.

It was telling him, _go fuck yourself_.

And for once, a hurt Craig was agreeing to that negative thought of his.

* * *

For one week and a half, Craig started observing several changes in the tenth grade community. At least, the changes within the people he could regard as friends. One, Stan seemed to hang out with the Mormon guy, Gary Harrison. The noirette heard something about him breaking up with Wendy for good on July, yet Kyle seemed to have been fed up with the noirette wearing the trademark blue hat. That led to the second new thing; the gang was left to three — but Cartman had been hooking his relationship back with Heidi Turner, who returned back to her original skinnier and a tad nicer self since she was twelve — the ginger was stuck with Kenny to the hip. Third change, the popular girls were starting to invite a certain blond into their clique — despite being a male, and that he used to be an outcast before.

On Friday, Craig was surprised to see — when he was about to approach Tweek — only to find the blond sheepishly holding a conversation; a long one; with Bebe and Wendy. The two girls seemed to be happy about the fact that they were talking with the blond, something about a new menu in Tweak Bros. Huddling together, hushed words then laughter and laughter. Confusing.

Craig should have been happy that Tweek was, albeit having a big depression monster by his side, was able to live his life finely in school. The girls seemed to be doing a good job — well, actually they didn't really help much. Craig could still see the solidity of the humongous fiure — on keeping Tweek distracted by his other life.

 _O_ _ther life_.

So far, Craig realised he didn't know much about the blond anymore. Only that he loved coffee; he was afraid of Craig and that he had depression.

That was about it.

In a way, the disappointment pooling in his gut made him melancholic for the rest of the day. Craig did not realise he had been staring at Tweek's lunch table for a consecutive ten minutes, didn't even touch his hamburger lying against the plastic plate.

Token was the one who broke him out of the reverie, nudging him with his elbow and looked at him incredulously; "You alright, buddy? You're staring at Bebe for like, ten minutes."

"Huh?" Craig looked somewhat annoyed at the statement. _B_ _ebe?_ _W_ _ho the fuck cares about that asshole_. Craig was more than happy to break up with her, he swore he had celebrated in Token's last summer party.

"Is someone regretting a major break up here," Clyde piped in the conversation upon hearing his major crush's name, he had the dibs on Bebe since fourth grade anyway, "I told you not to do it, Tucker. I told you so."

Craig groaned, loud enough to reach to the neighbouring cafeteria tables. For a brief while, Wendy and Tweek looked over their shoulders — the emerald green eyes met his navy blue, before averting his gaze nervously and swiftly — and the noirette had blushed upon his accidental outburst. "It's not Bebe, you fucker," an angry glare at the brunet.

"Then, who are you staring at? My ex?" Token said.

"No, god damn," he looked at his dark-skinned friend, "Y'know I hate Wendy. She's the same like Marsh, all obnoxious and moral-righteous."

"Hey, she's still my ex!"

Craig sneered, "Nichole was better."

"Well, I'm glad I'm still dating her."

"Okay, okay —" Clyde disrupted once again, he was desperate to know, "If you're not staring at either of those two hot chics, that means you're staring at Tweek?"

"Tweek?" Token's face was incredulous again.

The noirette swallowed a bite of his hamburger, nervous sweat beading on his forehead. "Yeah. . . I am kinda staring at him. What's wrong with staring at him?"

"I thought you hate him."

"Dude —"

"But it's true!" Defended the brunet, both hands against his chest as if to block any anger from the noirette, "You beat him up on seventh grade — like, we don't even do that. But you told us to stay away from him, somehow."

"Huh, why did you do that Craig?"

 _W_ _hy_. . .

Of all things, the reasoning was one he could never remember. It was his turn to give his two friends an odd look, and he dropped his hamburger, losing his appetite once again.

"Well, fuck it. . . I can't remember that."

"For real?" the brunet snorted.

"Yeah — I mean, that happened like years ago? You want me to remember something from that time, of course I can't!"

The three of them had a moment of silence, except for the slurping out from the milk carton, Token's. The two friends had a long gaze to each other's eyes, some sort of communication signals that Craig could not grasp yet. _T_ _hese fuckers having a secret language, should I be offended?_

"I don't know, dude. . . It was still pretty harsh."

"Okay, you know what — let's drop this," the noirette sighed, on which the two finally agreed at long last.

But Clyde was still a determined fucker, being the curious one as he always was : "Still waiting for the answer, y'know. Why are you staring at Tweek?"

"Oh Jesus —"

"Just answer me, Craig. It's not a big deal," he eyed the boy with a chullo hat, "Or is it. . .?" How he could touch a sensitive topic to Craig whilst putting on a smug grin was beyong Craig's disbelief. Why he was friends with Clyde was beyond his comprehension. He should have beaten the brunet instead of Tweek in seventh grade.

"I just want to, y'know, sort things out with Tweek," Craig mumbled.

"This sudden?" Token rejoined the conversation.

"Yeah, what's wrong with that? Can't I fix things with him already? It's hella time that we grow our balls up anyways."

"No, no, no," the one with a purple sweater started, "Look, it's great you want to sort it out with Tweek. I respect you for that. But it's true, it's just. . . too sudden. At this point, you're going to freak Tweek out too."

Craig swallowed. The logic was finally entering his head, and he cursed inwardly at his own recklessness. "What should I do?" he asked the two of his trusted best friends. "I already did."

A pause. Token dropped the carton, and Clyde was giving a _I-knew-it_ vibe.

"Well, maybe you could ask Bebe and Wendy to help you about it," the brunet shrugged, slowly standing up to grab his empty lunch tray.

Before they could say anything, the school bell rung and everyone rose from their seats to sort out their lunch trays, dumping trashes and went to their classes. Meanwhile, Craig was reeling his mind with Clyde's idea.

It was just his luck that he had World History with Wendy Testaburgers.

* * *

Of all things Craig hates doing; one of them was to talk to the black-haired girl with a pink beret. The air surrounding her was, to Craig, suffocating. Yet, for the sake of Tweek, he pulled himself together and sat right beside her on history class.

Wendy must have noticed the change, Craig would have never sit beside her — even if it was the only seat left — the noirette would urge other students to get the fuck off and occupied that particular student's seat.

Now, the two of them were one of the earliest people arriving in the classroom. Empty seats were still visible, only gradually being taken each minute he was warming his seat beside Wendy. The girl feigned her own discomfort, fidgeting in her own, before turning to face the stoic teen.

"Are you for real, Craig?"

"What?" he said nonchalantly. That was a pretend, of course. He was loathing it as much as she did.

Ridiculous look, again. He received that many within a day. "Don't tell me you're breaking up with Bebe just to get the hots on me, Tucker." She scoffed, folding her arms defensively, "That's way too insensitive of you."

"Wait what — who says I want to be with you?" It was his turn scoffing, "Oh please, get yourself together. You're not that perfect, Wendy."

She looked downright offended. "Jesus Christ! So what are you doing here then?"

"Look, I just want to ask you a few things. . ."

"About Bebe?"

"No!" He cut back in, "I don't care what happens to Bebe, for fuck's sake!"

"Then?"

"Tweek —" he rasped, but lowered his voice when the history teacher entered the class, "Look, I wanna ask you about Tweek."

The ridicule obvious on her expression increased twofold, yet she wore a cynical, judgmental smile. "What about Tweek, hm?" Her face became serious after a brief moment, "I thought you hate him since that day, Tucker. What would you possibly want, huh?"

"I just want to sort things out with him," he explained bluntly.

"Sort things out?" Wendy found it hard to believe. This was Craig Tucker after all, and that meant nothing good, "If you hurt my friend once again, I'll do anything to make your life suffer."

 _A_ _s if I'm not this miserable already_ , mused the noirette. "Since when you're friends with Tweek? You only started hanging out with him today."

"Oh, don't look at me like that," she huffed, "For your information, I volunteered working in his coffee shop when they ran out of staffs this summer. That's how we became friends."

"Okay then," Craig almost gave her an eye roll before stopping himself, "Well, could you help me out then?"

"Help what?"

"Talk to him."

She scoffed, "Just meet him at Tweak Bros, Craig. I can't help you that much. Between you and him, it's just you on the game, Tucker. You messed up, you pick up the pieces by yourself. Okay?"

Her tone at the final word was the sickeningly sweet sarcasm, a light tone of mocking him. He groaned, before the teacher told the two of them to shut up before entering a syllabus on South East Asia.

After school, Craig did not attempt to chase the blond anymore. Instead, he waited. They still collided with each other due to locker placements, but Craig tried his very best not to stare at Tweek any longer. The monster, in return, regarded his presence, somehow he could hear the low rumbles of depression — the hums of negative whispers vaguely passing through in echoes, Craig could not catch any of those words but he knew it must have been painful to listen. He let the blond arranging his books, noticed a swift glance before finally making his way out of the school.

That was when Craig Tucker was in motion. He drove his way to the town, the coffee shop situated in between other shop lots, brimming with customers which consisted majorly of school girls.

 _This is it_ , he told himself.

After parking his Ford Mustang, the boy made his way into the coffee shop. The whole surrounding smelt like coffee beans, warm and tender to his senses, and the humdrum of customers talking in hushes, chortles and Bobby Darin's playlist by the background. He noticed Wendy sitting at one corner with Heidi, she gave him a look but that was about it.

He was on his own.

No Kenny, no Wendy, no Clyde or Token to help him out.

He was going to pick up the pieces by his own self. And whatever happens, he was still going to be alone in this journey. Tweek was by the counter, perhaps he was taking a break since he was flipping through Fox magazine with a white mug of coffee next to him, the trail of steam indicated it was fresh.

"Hey Tweek," he spoke, nonchalant without the deadpan in his usual tone. He tried to be as tender as he could, a friendly approach to the blond.

Still, out of pure shock, the blond had shrieked and flailed his arms, knocking the mug by accident and it came crashing onto the tiled floor. He heard Tweek cursing, the stress pure in his eyes, and oh Lord — he messed up again. By now, the cafe was in pure silence. Wendy looked straight at him, and she was angry as hell.

"C-C-Craig!" The blond was huffing and puffing, crouching to pick up the broken shards and he winced when one finger pricked against sharp corner. Looking like a man with a heart attack, Craig knew he was about to have a fit of panic attack. The noirette swiftly slipped into the counter, grabbing Tweek gently by the wrist.

For a brief while, their eyes met. And as improvement, the trust appeared in Tweek's emerald pools, as he gently peeled himself from the shard and let Craig handle his finger. The noirette brought the slender digit slowly to his lips, before kissing the wound away. He opened his mouth, his tongue dragged against the soft skin and he tasted the copper on the injury.

"There, there, Tweek," he gulped. "I won't hurt you — see?" He released the finger, but Tweek was frozen to his spot, looking at him with mild awe. The trance was broken when Craig brought one hand to his wrist again, "Let's go to the storeroom."

"B-But —"

"It's okay," Craig gulped, "I'll help you."

The blond shuddered against his touch, but he gestured a small curl on his lips before lowering his head. "T-Thanks. . ."

The word sent up a semblance of pleasure up to his spine. The ambience was good, for a moment, it was just the two of them and nobody else inside the shop. Warmth spreading in his chest, warmth heavily poisoning his mind and he was smiling for real. He was trying, of course. Every ounce in him, he was trying to help Tweek.

He meant it this time.

"Let's get you treated."

There was a double meaning to that.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Mozu : Oh dear god, oh dear. I finally did it! This is slow. . . This is hella slow. Next chapter is the final of Part I! Part II will have more Tweek in the story, of course. I know it's slow build but what can I do?**

 **Pairings in this story will be Creek (of course) and K2. As much as I love Bunny, K2 is my third OTP. Actually, I like Stylenny (I'm trash, I know) but Kenny is a major character, and I wanna bring Kyle to a major role as well. I like Kyle, he's the good boy and all, but he's angry and shit his character has depth - more than Stan as well.**

 **X for love O for hate!**

 **-Mozu The Mochi (2017)**


	4. Three of Part I

**The Boy Who Sees Monsters**

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 **Part I**

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 **Chapter Three**

 **Warning : Last chapter for Part I.**

 _"I fix what's broken - except in the heart."_  
 _― Bernard Malamud, The Fixer_

* * *

"Y-Y-You need to stop c-coming here, C-Craig."

Back then — or to put it simply, the past week — Craig would have probably settled on dinner with his family, the table brimming with a simple conversation which led to an endless (pointless) argument followed by their infamous flipping. He would flip Thomas Tucker, he would flip his mother and then Craig would not even care about flipping Tricia, who would flip him with a similar level of frustration. Then, he'd proceed to his bedroom, thumping his feet loud on the stairs just for show, and not that he would be doing homework — fuck homework — but to play around with Stripe and to ease himself from all monsters.

Occasionally, ignoring them was always the easiest method. But often, sightings are just as painful; they are still a bunch of hideous, murky unknown blobs feasting the sanity out of most people in the world. The noirette was left brooding with his thoughts every night, sometimes he'd cry from the curse he never asked for. But then, afterwards, he would learn not to care once again.

Block and forget.

It sounded so easy but even when he was living with the ability for sixteen fucking years, but Craig was still suffering.

Nevertheless, it started after that particular day, he would stay till 10PM watching a certain blond scurrying around the quaint coffee shop whilst maintaining the agitated twitching. Dark blue eyes shifted, left to right, to the corner of the shop and to the machine brewing the black, aromatic coffee (which he knew was laced with meth).

Even with trembling hands, Tweek was professional enough to brew his own coffee — in fact, he made better ones than his own parents. Craig wasn't one to drink caffeine, but he sure did love the new version of Sunset Blend.

Craig furrowed one brow, and he smirked at the emerald eyes nervously averting between wiping the interior of an ivory, porcelain mug and back to his own dark blue gaze. "But I like watching you work," he leaned toward the counter nearby the cashier, "It's fun."

"W-Well! It's not f-fun for me, hn," he mumbled, and proceeded to place the mug by the arrangements of similar utilities. Showing distress, he fisted the white apron donned on his frail body. The apron was his father's, who was slightly taller and had a stronger build than Tweek himself, thus it honestly made Tweek looked like a girl wearing a dress past his knees.

Craig pictured the mental image. Honestly, if Tweek happened to be a girl, Craig wouldn't mind dating him. The blond was way better than Bebe Stevens anyway.

"Just pretend I'm not here then."

"Oh god, h-how?!"

"Um. . ." he frowned, "Use your imagination?"

The blond yelped and pulled his hair, "No way, dude! T-That's way too much pressure!" The phrase had been Tweek's own catchphrase, and honestly, since the noirette had not been hanging out with him was hit with a sense of nostalgia. After a moment of silence, Tweek finishing his clean-up before they locked up the shop, the blond began a new topic : "What brings you here so suddenly anyway?" He wandered off for a moment, "We haven't talk for three years, Craig."

The boy with a chullo hat gulped. He glanced between Tweek and his monster, propping itself on one corner with its gaze lowered to meet his entire existence. Craig felt small, under the intense gaze and Tweek's supposedly innocent muse. "I just. . . felt like I wanna talk to you again, you know. It's been a while, whatever that we have back then, we should just move on from it."

For a moment, the noirette swore he saw the sparkle in Tweek's bright green eyes, glossed and gleaming with a shimmer of hope. His lips parted, almost pulling out a loud gasp and he leaned himself slightly onto the counter. "S-so you forgave me when I said. . . y'know?"

Craig looked at him incredulously. "What did you said?"

Upon his response, the glitter in his eyes dimmed and Tweek took his turn to mirror his own expression. But his lips were left quivering, and he retreated back to wiping the counter. "Craig, y-you don't remember?" Whatever it was, Tweek's melancholy returned. Drooped shoulders and lowered gaze, Craig felt the monster stirred and he knew he fucked up again.

But it was better to be honest about it. It was like some memory loss curse, and he had enough of curses, but he seriously could not register any thoughts to what happened three years ago. "I couldn't remember shit. . . I honestly don't know why we were fighting, Tweek."

If Tweek had been much of a cold person, he would be downright offended. Not that he wasn't now, but he wasn't showing it to Craig. The blond remained muted, only heaving a small sigh before placing the dirty cloth in the sink. He shrugged off his apron, hanging it by the hook situated on the door which led to the store room.

"Tweek, what's wrong —"

"It's n-nothing, Craig," he bit his lower lip, turning to the noirette but refusing to meet his startled gaze. "It's guh. . . getting late, we b-better do the lock up n-now. . ."

Craig held him by the wrist before he could go anywhere else. The blue eyes hardened, an austere ambience spreading in between them, but Tweek easily shrugged him off this time.

"Why can't you —"

"Drop it. Let's go h-home."

"But —"

Before he said anything, Tweek reeled himself away from the counter, disregarding the other boy's presence for real this time. It was only the two of them left anyway, since the last customer left the shop about twenty minutes ago. He felt every morsel of his remorse growing, but Craig could only mutter a string of curses under his breath and do nothing.

At the very least, Craig thought, they were on speaking terms once again. He had grasped the chance last week, when he had invaded the coffee shop and Tweek had been a nervous wreck afterwards.

He remembered that, somehow, the gentle tug he was putting effort on. He was bringing the blond to stride, but his feet threading against the tiled floor was slow but not the least bit languid. There was an urgency to talk, and then when they reached the end of the store, resting the blond against the wall between two shelves full of boxes labeling coffee beans (and something else, their special formula).

"Stay here," he ordered the quivering blond, who had both eyes shut and beads of sweat nervously rolling onto his neck, damping his collar. "Where's the kit?"

Craig had to wait several minutes before the hesitant reply came, voice almost inaudible despite the silence warming up the room, "D-d-drawer. . ." Tweek lifted a finger and pointed to the cabinet on their right. The noirette nodded and moved swiftly to rummage through old recipes written on mini yellow sticky notes, receipts and bank logs and accounting shit Craig couldn't bother to look at before coming upon the white but dusty metallic box. He took out a band aid, some ointment and things he thought necessary to treat a small injury.

In all honesty, if it was Tricia or anybody else, Craig would only hand them the bandages. But this was Tweek Tweak he was going to tend — twitching, paranoid Tweek who would probably have a heart attack on Craig not cleansing his wound first with yellow solution.

"Why are you. . . you. . ." Tweek gazed him from the top of his chullo hat, yellow puffball bouncing to the bottom of his Vans sneakers, as if to confirm his existence, "Craig, why are you h-here?"

"I wanted to talk to you." The teen said simply, dabbing cotton onto streak, some blood still oozing out. It was just a finger wound, but the cut was long.

"Oh, don't fuck with me, Craig!" For a moment, Tweek was shocked at his own outburst, his expression in the aftermath was similar to Craig — wide eyes and gaping — "I mean. . ." he swallowed, "Y-you, Craig. . . You always said that."

He swallowed a lump in his throat, finishing his treatment by wrapping the bandage around Tweek's small finger. He had small hands. "Because I meant it this time."

"B-But why?"

"Why not?"

The conversation was left hung in the air. Craig somewhat concluded he won the tête-à-tête from Tweek.

The blond stood up from his crouching stance, Craig pulling him to his feet and he sheepishly smiled at the scowling blond. "I need to go now, I have work to do."

"Okay then," Craig's voice feigning disappointment before he lit up, "I could wait for you."

"F-For what?!" the coffee addict shrieked, "That's way too much pressure!"

"Oh, come on. You won't be alone for lock up, would you?" The noirette offered his hand, waiting for some sort of gesture on which the blond disregarded because he was currently distracted and yelping. He hid his hand right away (ashamed, slightly) but the boy tucked his chullo hat and continued grinning, "I could offer you a drive."

"N-No!"

"But you won't be walking right in the cold."

"I told you no!"

Despite his constant refusals and highly strung whimpers, Craig prattled on him until the girls left, having their work done which consisted of an intermission between doing Chemistry project and gossips — Wendy walked out last, she tapped Craig by the shoulder before squeezing it hard (some sort of indication of warning), her dark eyes glaring before putting on a glittery smile to Tweek.

"Bye, sunshine!" She said to Tweek, on which Craig opted to roll his eyes.

The blond, however, responded with an equivalent of bright smile though it never reached his eyes. It never did. Craig saw the lines above his eyes, the way his glossy green pools were looking in a distant than straight at Wendy.

He stayed until he received a text from Tricia — fucking annoying sister who seemed to nag at him at why he wasn't home for dinner yet.

 _Staying at Tweak's Bros. Just ditch me._ _I_ _t's not like I want to join your bullshit fights anyway. -Craig_

 _Oh_ _, fuck you for ditching me with them. Fine. But give me five bucks later. -Tricia_

 _Five bucks my ass. -Craig_

This was the reason why he felt like staying anyway. The Tucker residence was never a home sweet home to him — except for Stripe, on which he would feed later when he got back.

"Why are you suddenly friends with the girls, anyway?" Opening up a new topic, but mostly because Craig was curious.

"Is it wrong?" Tweek was facing the coffee machine opposite the customer's counter, so the noirette was left staring at the hunched back. "Wendy d-decided to work here during the summer, and B-Bebe always hung out with her. . . It's not j-just them, y-y'know. . ." He turned around, flashing a sad smile, "I hung out w-with Butters. And sometimes. . . When y-you're not around, Clyde sneaked to my house and we played games."

"Clyde?"

Clyde sneaked out? And he never told Craig about it, not that he was supposed to. But it left the noirette with a bitter taste in his mouth. Perhaps, this was proof to show how nescient he had become over the years.

"Yeah, Clyde."

He said nothing of the brunet afterwards, instead shuffling a few feet away to take a middle school girl's order, she looked like Tricia's classmate or whatever.

A part of him wanted to pry even further, but for that moment, Craig decided to drop the subject.

* * *

It was a few days after when he confronted Clyde who had finished his practice, just as Craig had finished his for football. The brunet was a part of basketball team with Kyle, he switched it earlier last week demanding that he wanted to push his co-curriculum marks up by the end of high school. That ass.

Craig had always been the tallest in their group, in fact the whole grade, reaching up six foot something but that did not mean Clyde was no something. He was only a few inches shorter, yet the brunet was one to hit the gym during the summer hols and he was bulkier than Craig himself, his shoulders broader and almost barrel-chested.

So even with Craig's attempt to look as menacing as he always does, the brunet gazed upon his standard eye level with ease, and only regarded his presence ever so casually. Typical Clyde Donovan — airhead, used to be crybaby Clyde Donovan.

"Oh hey Craig," he grinned, "What's up? I heard you've been hanging out in Tweak Bros lately. Bebe said you're always there till the lock up."

Before Craig could retort about his intention, he snorted almost sardonically : "Bebe? What are you doing with Bebe?"

"Is that jealousy I heard? I told you not to do it, bro."

"Jesus —" he stifled a sarcastic laugh, "I don't fucking care about Bebe. Just be careful she ain't digging your pockets sooner or later."

Clyde feigned an offended look, but they both practically knew most about the blonde herself. She was smart, yes — and beautiful in dramatic teenagers' standards — but damn, that girl had her own kind of snakes. "We're just chatting around, you know. Besides, I've asked Red out," he winked at his own achievement, Craig rolled his blue eyes, "We're going on a date this weekend."

"Well, let's hope you're not bringing her on McDonalds," the noirette retorted.

"Oh hell no, not McD, you ass," Clyde nudged him with his shoulder, "I'm bringing her to SoDoSoPa."

"Real classy."

"I know," the brunet grinned, obviously proud at his own plan. The two of them walked past lockers, and Clyde waved to one of the cheerleader girls, "Anyway, why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be at the shop right now, trying to get into his pants or something?"

Upon Clyde's satirical remark, the noirette almost slip himself to the ground but he held himself by one of the lockers. Craig was left choking by his own saliva, the shock attacking his ribcage, before sending a malice glare to widened hazel eyes. "Son of a bitch, Clyde," he hacked, hauling himself to a proper standing stance, "I didn't mean it like that, fucker." He flipped Clyde as a revenge, causing the brunet to feel intimidated and nervously laughed at the taller teen.

"You know I'm joking, right?"

"Yeah, but it's not funny." His voice returned flat.

"But —"

"And besides, I heard from Tweek that you actually hung out with him before."

There was a pin-drop silence enveloping the hallway for a brief second, Clyde with hazel pools showing the sign of an _oh shit I got caught_. It wasn't like Craig was pissed or anything, but the least that Clyde could do was assist him if they had been on talking terms before him.

His life could be easier, and Clyde — supposedly best friend since second grade — knew that he had been trying to confront Tweek face to face; but _noooo_. He had to bitched his way to Tweak Bros, caused Tweek to injure his own finger and had the monster sent ripples to his spine, because fuck Craig Tucker and his shitty attitude. That was the downsides of having a bad reputation after all; he might be famous but once he was in one corner begging for help, everybody backed off.

Maybe he was a little pissed.

Beside him, it was the basketball player who was left to be a stammering mess. The nervous dubious on his face, and he tried to smile back at Craig but failed miserably.

"W-Well," he swallowed, "It's not wrong to hang out with him, right? I mean. . . I'm not obliged to follow your orders around, Craig." The boy with chullo hat just huffed as a response, and Clyde took it as a chance to resume. This time, he composed his own self and the confidence returned, "Yeah, we hung out before summer came. I supposed I felt bad for Tweek, I mean. . . you did a number on him back then."

Craig sighed, "I honestly don't care about what you did with him or why, Clyde."

"Then? What do you want from me?"

"I just can't believe you didn't tell me. Honestly, I don't think chasing Tweek around would be necessary."

It was Clyde's turn to retort, and he wore a skeptical look on his face. The hazel eyes were stern, not cold like Wendy's, but somewhat it served as an almost similar warning. Craig knew what that meant. "To be honest, Craig, he doesn't really wanna talk to you. Even if I were to help you, he still wouldn't want it. Even now, I don't know man. . . Have you ever considered his own comfort or anything?"

That might have struck Craig hard. He halted his footsteps, head lowered to hide the realisation on his face — that, and maybe he was a little ashamed over his own insensitivity. Well, growing up with a family like the Tuckers, of course he was dense as fuck.

He learnt to ignore tiny details, and sometimes, that became a weapon of him to deny most of the things he thought would be on his way. And maybe that was true, with Craig around, he could see the blond attempted his best to stay calm whilst working, the wavering deep emerald pried to him sporadically. "Oh," was all that he could mumbled at the moment, and the brunet lifted his brows, skeptical. He leaned to one random locker. "I don't think I. . ." he swallowed, one palm touching his flushed face, Craig didn't notice he was starting to shake uncontrollably, "I just want to. . ."

"Yo, Craig," the brunet's voice tight and scared, "W-What's wrong, dude? You don't look well."

Craig flashed him a cold stare, trying his best to compose himself before pulling out a long strand of sigh. "I'm just tired. Bye."

He pushed the brunet, somewhat seething, somewhat perturbed. Craig didn't drive his way to Tweek's working place, he went straight to his home. Laura Tucker flashed him an alarmed look as he dumped his bag onto the velvet couch by the living room, he disregarded his mother calling out to him and rushed to his bedroom. All voices became an instant echo, the yells mingling with an endless whispers coming from all corners.

Craig felt small.

His visions narrowed into a straight path leading to his awaited bed, the sheets and quilts all messed up, draping to his carpet, since he didn't bother to neaten them. Not that he could care for now, his thoughts were slowly eating his rationality away.

When Craig came to his senses, was the time Kenny called him for the twelfth time. The simple iPhone ringtone blaring up to its full volume jolted him from the mattress, alarmed. He picked up the line with a groan, an ache starting to form in his head.

"What?" His voice sounded as if he was having a hangover, and exhaustion followed suit.

He could imagined Kenny's surprise with his silence. "Dude, you wanna come over? You sound like shit."

"Jesus —" he muttered, and then cursed afterwards when he caught himself tangled in between duvets, "Wa, wait. What time is it right now?"

"Around twelve, midnight. Still cool for me though, I'm hanging around at Kyle's."

"Kyle? No, I don't wanna talk at Kyle's," he rasped, water would do him some good for now, "Please."

There was some chatters in the background, the noirette could sense disappointment in Kyle's voice from a distant — "Let's talk later, Ken," in a soft, non-Kyle-like manner — before the blond reached out to him. "Okay, how about this? I'll come over for a while."

"You wanna creep into my bedroom?" Even with his stress, Craig returned to his stoic, sardonic mien.

"Jesus," Kenny snorted back, "Fine, I'll just wait at your backyard."

"Good enough."

The blond did came an hour later, a sharp 1.04AM blaring at his alarm clock before he received a text from McCormick. He didn't reply, instead grabbing a black and white varsity and crept slowly down the stairs. Thomas wasn't around, fortunately, thus slipping to the back door located in the kitchen was an easy work for him. Kenny was leaning at the oak tree by his backyard, holding a beer can by one hand and motioned him for another. Craig responded with a shrug, it was better than smoking anyways. It was something about Kenny, raised from bad parents who were often high from weed and alcohol, the blond was neither of them two. He drank sometimes, but it wasn't to an alcoholic stage like Marsh. The two of them sat on the grassy ground, not paying any attention to the dirt caking their pants.

Craig took the beer, cracked it open and took a sip. "This is much better," his lips curling to a small grin.

"That's why," Kenny held his own Cheshire-like smirk, "Anyways," he started, "I saw you in the hallway, talking to Clyde. You looked like you were passing out, same like when we were in AP Lit."

The noirette puffed out a whine, "Ugh, don't remind me about that. It's bullshit, I tell ya."

"Was it the monsters again?"

The taller teen bit his lip, "Kinda."

The brighter blue gazed at his face for a brief while, and he chortled a small laugh, "You're lying, I can tell." The blond chugged a large content of cheap beer into his throat, grimacing at the burn before continuing, "A half-lie though," he smiled crookedly, "You're thinking about Tweek, aren't you?"

"Jesus, you got me on that one."

Fucking Kenny and fuck Kyle's smart ass influence, maybe. The fact that he could read Craig like a book made him felt uneasy. But he stayed put, since the blond was the only person he could talk these kind of stuffs to. Kenny spoke again, "Were you guilty of what could have happened to Tweek?"

"Because I fucked him up and left him alone for like three years? Wouldn't you?"

"I guess. . ." he blinked at the harsh tone, "But you were guilty only when you saw that,right? Before this, I kinda doubt you cared."

That, again, was true. And Craig was having enough of the outburst of bitterness welling in his gut. He bit back his tongue, and almost yelped like an angry dog upon his outburst ; "Yeah, well maybe that still makes me of an asshole — I know? I've always been one anyway. Is it wrong to only feel guilty now when I'm getting crept out by some eight foot monster?"

"Dude, Craig, calm down! Nobody said you're wrong."

"Yeah, but all of you makes it feels that way. And I know it, Kenny. It is my fucking fault!" By now, the noirette was standing. He had dumped his half-empty can by the ground, its content leaking to the soil and grass. He felt the headache multiplying, like his skull was about to split into two.

"Okay, okay — fuck, you're becoming worst than me," Kenny mumbled, "Let's get back inside, you're —"

"What? I'm drunk? Taking a fucking look at yourself."

"Jesus — stop interrupting me!" The frustration was clear in Kenny's voice, which suddenly ran deeper than Craig's nasal tone and said Craig was taken by surprise sealed his lips into a taut line. He gazed at the bright azure pools, anger still evident but he pushed the emotion back into his chest, and he just stepped away. "Craig," Kenny called out to which the noirette responded by calling his name with a colder but hushed tone, "Just, don't get it too much inside your head, y'know? Don't you ever thought that maybe. . . you could have your own monsters?"

His own monsters.

Well, god be damned, he probably have a lot chasing him by now. For once, Craig felt the ignorance getting to his own self. And maybe having those monsters made him felt a little less lonely, just a little bit crazier.

"I think my curse is already one," he laughed at his own statement, before leaving the blond out in the cold and alone.

* * *

Sporadically, when Tweek was all alone in the coffee shop, Craig took it upon himself to play his Bandcamp playlist — Alvvays' Antisocialites running in the background, clashing with the generic pop from the radio.

"O-oh god, I honestly can't focus on Ariana Grande like this," the blond complained.

"My playlist is better, really. Ariana sucks anyway," Tweek pretended to scowl at his statement, "I have Japanese Breakfast if you want," the noirette flashed him his iPhone, on which Tweek scrutinised it for a moment — green eyes narrowed before pulling a small smile.

The blond tapped his fingers by the island, "How about Panic _!_?"

"Too rock-ish for a coffee shop setting."

"Tame Im — Impala."

"You listened to old songs?"

"I, hn, listened to everything," Tweek shrugged. The entrance door rang its indicator of a new customer, and he peeled himself from the iPhone screen before giving his attention to the newly arrival. He wore his custom, poised smile and the noirette snorted at the sight.

Craig grinned nonetheless, "Cool." He switched to Spotify, typing _Tame_ before coming across the artist and let his phone drowning the volume of the radio.

And half an hour later, they would be alone once again. Sometimes the two did not speak a word, only drowning themselves with each other's presence, sometimes Tweek would play around with Craig's phone, switching from the noirette's most hated genre to his favourites and the two would leave with a light ambience filled with hushed laughter, even with the eight foot monster huddled in one corner — dozen eyes flashing a glare. Sometimes Craig would help the blond with his Astronomy homework and the two promised to go stargazing one day.

A promise. It was something.

Apparently, the time rolled on a similar routine for almost a month. And Craig felt the blond easing up to him. The sense of melancholy was still apparent at most times, something that Tweek tend to hide from the noirette. But it was a micro expression, and Craig could see his mask slipping up and the distress was there. Dubious.

"Hey, Tweek," he called out before the blond locked the shop. The two of them standing in a dark alleyway, totally not a cool time to ask for a hangout. "Wanna go for the stargaze tomorrow?" It was Saturday the day after, and Craig made sure both their assignments were cleared.

There was a brief flash of pure shock crossed his face for a while, the blond lowered his face — the change of his expression unknown — before he nodded slowly. "Yeah, let's do that."

Craig grinned, "Saturday night, then."

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Mozu : Part I done! Anyway I have nothing against Ariana Grande, but I don't really like generic pop too. Anyway, the timeline is a bit fucked up in this one. Let me explain how this goes :**

 **Tweek's outburst when Craig first confront him Craig talked to Clyde Craig met Kenny Craig and Tweek start hanging out again, aka the first and last scene.**

 **I am so connected to Craig writing this : His guilt which leads to his own depression. It's like, you're so caught up trying to fix someone you forgot about your own demons. So yeah, enjoy!**

 **-Mozu The Mochi (2018)**


	5. One of Part II

**The Boy Who Sees Monsters**

 **Part II**

 **Chapter Four**

 **Warning : Take cautious steps for an emotional override.**

 _"It is a pity that doing one's best does not always answer."_

— _C_ _harlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre_

* * *

It was their twenty-third day of getting back together (as friends) when Tweek dared upon himself to confront Craig about his supposedly long-forgotten invite. Basically, like any other days, the shop remained unaccompanied saved by two people — one by the counter, and the other sitting on the high stool either scrolling through music playlists, doing the one and only homework he would be entertained to do (which would be Astronomy, of course) whilst chatting idly with the blond. The night had been dark, when they got out to ensure all doors were securely locked before going home — especially in the alleys where there were less lighting. Craig had always volunteered to do the lock up ever since, since the blond was either too shivery or too clumsy to even twist and tug a bunch of keys into keyholes. That, or he was just being too anxious for his own good.

In the dark, at least, the monster blended with the silhouettes of objects and buildings, saved for the glow cast on its many eyes. But Craig felt less intimidated.

But that one night, Tweek was the one insisting to lock up — in turn he was doing a favour to his own self to calm his nerves and not making a funny face to Craig. His voice had almost been inaudible, a few decibels lower the noirette wouldn't hear a single thing; "S-So, um, Craig," his back still facing the noirette, who by now had his attention piqued from his mobile phone, "W-what did you do when, hn, you stargaze?"

Craig blinked rapidly at the question, surprised at the blond's notion to bring in his past invite (on which he had totally forgotten). He recalled the memory of Tweek whining about it the week before; something about being in a dark, scary place and doing nothing. At least, that was Tweek's perspective on stargazing before he could try it out yet. To Craig, it would be the both of them lying on the plain greensward and just gaze upon the blanket of dotted canvas.

And so, with a cool composure and a thoughtful look, he responded with a "Nothing," causing the blond to retaliate and shook as if he was vibrating. "Oh my God —", voice getting decibels louder, "What do you mean nothing?! That's like — oh my God, still too much pressure!"

"Calm down a little, it's not as boring as you think it is," Craig chuckled at his panic moment, landing one palm against the golden mane. Oh boy, it was as soft as he thought it would be.

For a moment, Craig noticed the twitches dwindling down slightly, and Tweek wore a collected look despite a small frown marring on his face.

He didn't really know what to do or what to feel about that; but the fact that the blond lit up a bit made him just slightly eased.

Stargazing was everything for the noirette. All by himself, but not the slightest lonely seeping into him, just content. No monsters, no dark blobs building into a tower of glaring figures, no voices ringing in his ears. Just him lying by the meadows with his Bandcamp and Spotify playlists, and the cosmos above.

Every bit of moments mattered to him, from the joy of solace to the constellations which lit his way at night. And if it could do the same to Tweek, he was willing to share his experience.

"So, y'know. . ." he swallowed, an index finger pulling his collar to give air to his windpipe, "Are you free this Saturday?"

"S-Saturday?" He turned to gaze the dark blue eyes, having to incline his head up. Emerald green pools, gleaming amidst the dark, wide and longing from the sudden question. And it was all a different perspective to Craig who just realised that he was standing too close to the blond; he felt his cheeks heating up from such gap. "I — I think I'm free," Tweek attempted to pull a smile but he was feeling anxious from the noirette.

"Yeah, Saturday. . . since you asked, I might as well bring you, y'know. . ."

"O-Oh my God, and then w-we'll do nothing?!" the blond contemplated on resuming his panic session but went against it as he pulled on a long thought, till the noirette had to nudge him from his trance — "Of course I'll teach you to look at the stars," he had said — And Tweek replied with a twofold of eagerness, "Really?"

"Yeah, come on. . ." Craig smiled warmly, "It'll be fun."

"Y-yeah," the blond pulled his composure, slightly collected than earlier, "Y-yeah, i-it'll be fun, I guess."

Warm feelings, oh, the warm feelings. From the corner of his left eye, the monster averted its gaze away from the cursed teenager.

God damn finally, Craig told to himself.

He couldn't wait till Saturday night comes, the fact that he was beaming with excitement sort of shook the whole South Park High especially his own batch, his own friends.

* * *

Craig Tucker smiling like Jesus' blessings bestowed upon him was like a rare gold mine, it only came once in a lifetime. The last time he felt like that was when — well, most of his friends couldn't really remembered when he had smiled that wide. It was a tight, long pull, revealing an extra detail which was that Craig Tucker had dimples when his lips all curled upwards. Pearly white teeth, a perfect straight arrangement (he used to have bad teeth until when he was thirteen and his father thought he should have braces), sets of dimples and the crinkles showing below his eyes. Unexpectedly, he gleamed a radiant one at Rebecca, even grinning to the blond with an orange parka who walked past him with a confused look (though, Kenny responded the particular smile later on and texted Craig to see if the monsters possessed him or any of those weird shit).

"What the fuck has gotten into you, dude!" Clyde, of course, was never one to adapt to changes. He freaked out instead, eyeing the noirette at lunch whilst sitting a few rows further from him. That was rare of course, he even traded seats with Jimmy.

"What?"

"You're. . . radiating!" That was the brunet's choice of word, somehow, but even their dark-skinned friend somewhat agreed. He was indeed radiating. "Like, Jesus Christ dude, even Red was totally fangirling on you this morning," he scrunched up a pout, but the noirette _happily_ flipped him off.

"So? What's wrong with being happy?" Responding to Clyde caused him to return to somewhat obnoxious, his scowls could be deeper than his smile, radiant or not.

The whole gang could feel his mood darkened, but the broader teen was still adamant about defending himself until he felt a kick under the table and he almost winced out loud. Clyde sighed in defeat, "Nothing. . ."

"W-was it something to do with Tw — Tw — Tw — Tweek. . .?" Jimmy managed to to sputter his name, and the noirette gulped down his lunch of ham sandwich thickly. It went silent for a moment before they all realised his face had been flushed, the fact that he had been caught sent him to an embarrassment.

Clyde laughed, "Oh Jesus —" he whacked the smooth surface of their lunch table, "And I thought you were going to hook up with Bebe again or something!"

"I told you many times, I don't fucking care about _Bebe_!"

"Never mind about her," Token decided to be the poised and polite one here; "It's a good thing you finally are trying to befriend Tweek again. Asides from, y'know, gaining back a good reputation on you, it'll totally do good for him too."

Craig raised a brow upon his sentence, especially the last few words. Well, asides the fact that he knew the blond was very well heavy from depression — the monster an obvious proof as it already was — he knew nothing of the cause. He just assumed, that was all. But to say it was a hundred percent accurate, he wasn't so sure. After all, it had been three fucking years. "What about Tweek?" He pretended not knowing, just for the sake of gaining any more intel about the blond — something he distrust from Clyde already.

Alas, the whole table turned to face him like he was a rare species of animal or something. His incredulous, alarmed look maintained. "Well?" He asked the five people hanging out in his lunch table, well, he doubted he could understand Timmy. Jimmy's stutters were dragging the time, so he wished secretly the frail brunet wouldn't be the one responding, Jason never really talked to them, he just joined them occasionally — unbeknownst reasons, that was for sure.

"Y-y-you really didn't kn — know?"

"Timmy!"

"I know you're ignorant since you were like, five, but I never thought you wouldn't. . ." Clyde trailed off, before exchanging glances to Token.

Now it was up to the dark-skinned teen by himself, he gazed up to dark blue pools waiting for a proper answer.

"Well, Token?" he growled Token's name, sending chills down to his spine.

"It just happened this summer, Craig. I think the whole school knew that Tweek's parents got divorced, Mr Tweak moved out to New York last month. His mom just, I don't know. . ." he shifted to the brunet back, as if passing the turn to Clyde and he almost gasped at the change of attention.

Clyde glanced back at the darkened look, as if his previous joy was dissipating, sizzling to thin smoke in thick air. "Hey, I know I've been hanging out with Tweek too — well, Mrs Tweak, er — she's not, er, well right now."

"What. . .?"

"People said she's just not ready to leave Mr Tweak yet, I don't know — she's still adamant keeping the shop opened despite not having much finance to support it. Kinda put the pressure on her son too."

"Tweek?"

"Yeah, man," Clyde simply retorted, "He had a pretty rough summer. That's why Wendy's been helping out, you know how she is like some kind of lawful good girl," he snickered, "That's cute actually — god, Marsh isn't here, is he?" At some point, he lowered his voice whilst looking around at his surroundings.

Craig could only rolled his eyes at the unnecessary detail about Wendy at the last part, but he consumed all words seriously. Perhaps, that was why the monster had been born. The pressure that had built up from his problems — and Craig believed a contribution of the past as well — scarred him pretty bad.

Still, that wasn't the full information, he thought. There were still many questions running in his head, that the noirette opted to kept his quiet mien for the entire lunch. Somehow, his usual unhappy (stoic) expression kept away the unwanted questions (especially from Clyde).

What asses.

* * *

Just his luck — or could he really considered himself lucky? — Mrs Tweak was in the coffee shop to resupply the coffee beans that had been running out lately. She was dressed differently than her usual apron-clad dress, now donning a white blouse and a pale blue skirt instead. It would have been a fresh look, if not for the dark circles running below her eyes; face pale from the lack of makeup, chapped lips bare from the tint of red lipstick that she used to wear and the brown locks untamed like her son's own mane. The expression she wore was that of pure exhaustion, and clear lines from the ducts of her eyes running down to her chin was obvious — she had been crying.

Mrs Tweak tried to smile, greeting with a languid, hoarse tone which clearly sounded forced; "Hey, sweetie, it's nice seeing you here."

Craig wasn't so sure if Tweek's mother still thought they were friends since then, he said neither a word, only responding her greet with a small, polite smile.

The noirette tried his best to ignore the shadow latching against her back, hideous and whispering the morose hushes which fed her more thoughts of Richard Tweak. It wasn't that gargantuan lump like Tweek's, not the expressive one (full of raw anger and exhaustion) he saw around Kenny, or the kind that switches its personality (he kind of noticed the differences lately) like the supposedly naive Leopold Stotch — hers held a figure, despite maintaining its solidified obsidian form, shaped like a human but the hair represented like tendrils which had coiled around her.

The representation of being attached to what she had loss — it was the cause of her mental deterioration.

"It's been a while since you've been here," she continued to drawl her words, though her gaze inclined toward the checklist of her supplies.

"Yeah. . . I wasn't really fond of coffee, er. . ." for now, the tall teen wasn't sure of what to call Mrs Tweak. Should she still be called Mrs Tweak?

The noirette also did not suspect another question to be thrown at him, he cursed when the woman continued; "What changes then, hm?"

A bitter chill ran down his spine, feeling the conversation to turn darker any sooner. "J-Just felt like it," he quenched, cold from the mood she emitted. Whilst her son had always attempted to suppress his troubles, she was expressing it from her whole demeanour, and it made him uneasy since he had always been facing the opposite kind of situation. "Been staying up at night, y'know, for school, SATs and all. . ."

"Oh how nice," she flaunted, keeping the sweetness lacing in her voice but the cold at the edge of it, "How about Tweek, Craig? How are you getting along with him?"

 _Jesus, fuck_. "Pretty okay, I guess?" He contemplated about telling her about the invite, but sooner or later, she might as well found out from Tweek anyway. "I'm bringing him to stargaze this weekend for um. . . homework," he blurted out, "Astronomy, yeah. . ."

The woman spun her head to meet his nervous gaze, for the first time actually giving him an earnest but startled look. "Oh, that's new. Tweek's never been invited by you before," Craig couldn't really identify whether that was sarcasm or not, "The last time I heard him talking about you were back when you both were thirteen. Has something happened, Craig?"

"Oh no," he wanted so much to bite his tongue and bleed out to death at the moment, but the lie had been too smooth from his lips that he couldn't stop himself, "We're fine, Mrs Tweak."

The name felt odd on his tongue, but the only reaction she gave was a small laughter. "I don't know if people should call me that now. . ." her eyes had been sad for a brief while, "Please, just call me Mary."

"Er, okay."

Before the two could continue the unnerving conversation, the door had rung its bell to reveal a solemn-looking Tweek entering. He looked at the noirette, from the tip of the bright yellow puffball to his unwashed sneakers, with a shocked face before coming to realisation that Craig did not really ride the bus ever since he got his car.

By now, Mary's attention shifted to her son — and somehow, it was the time (and only time) when Craig had noticed the tight squeeze in her tone, and the raise in volume; "Why are you late, Tweek?" and the taller teen watched as the trembling of his lithe figure becoming more and more obvious. Behind Mary, the monster had watched the blond with spite — something must have happened between those two.

"T-The bus w-w-was, ack, late. . ." he hung his head low, avoiding the stare before his mother decided to shake her head and ignored her son. "I — gah — I'll get r-ready in a, in a minute!" Without glancing at the noirette, he pushed his way to the kitchen with an anxious pace.

He was all alone with the woman once again, who by now had finished ticking the checklist she held on tight grasp. She placed the sheet by the counter, drawing out a long distressed sigh before glancing shortly at the noirette. It was then Craig realised for a brief while she had been snorting at him, then proceed walking to the back door which Tweek entered previously.

Craig peeled himself from the awkward standing position before going to his usual place, dropping his schoolbag to the bare floor. He noticed two girls from his school (the cheerleader squad Bebe leads) entering the coffee shop, looking oddly at the unoccupied counter — and then trailing their eyes to glance at his solitude— before leaning backwards to check the _OPEN_ sign dangling at the glass door. He paid them no mind, but he was starting to wonder why the blond had taken a long time to simply _get ready_. Then again, Mary had been in there so they could have a long discussion of some sorts.

Dejectedly, he withdrew a long sigh before asking the girls; "Coffee?"

One of them, a brunet with a high ponytail which reached barely reached her shoulders snickered at him, "Huh Craig, since when have you been working here?"

"Do you want coffee or do you want to get the fuck out?"

A second passed by which caused her a reaction consisting of a look as if she was taken back by his harsh treatment. Then again, anyone who hanged out with Bebe knew who Craig Tucker was. She flipped her hair, throwing a scoff to which he probably wouldn't give a flying fuck. "I'll just take black, no sugar no cream. That is, if you even know how to brew one."

"I bet he doesn't," an Eurasian girl with pixie cut giggled at her own statement, on which Craig felt like she deserved a punch from his mighty fist.

"I can fucking do coffee just fine," he retorted back, trying to remove the bullshit sarcasm she gave from his mind before he could do a brutal murder on her (he might but he was sure Tweek's going to freak out), "I just don't fucking drink them."

Token was actually the second closest to Tweek as a coffee lover nowadays. He was amongst the top graders after all, often working hard to keep in par with Kyle's and Wendy's level. Often times, Craig spent most of his study sessions running to his fancy kitchen to brew a cup for his dark-skinned friend.

Sliding his way into the working area felt weird. That was, of course, a first. He always had been watching from the front, a particular blond pacing to and forth in that small area of several square feet. Picking up a cup, that was when he heard an abrupt crash coming from the staff area. But there wasn't any yells, no obvious arguments could be heard from inside the enclosed room.

The girls had jumped, pure shock written on their faces and one hand pressed against the chest — an exclamation of expression.

"Jesus Christ, what do you think happened, Jess?"

"Not so sure," the brunet named Jess rolled her eyes, "You know what they said about Tweek's mom, Mrs Tweak's going cuckoo," she made the swirl with her finger and laughed at her own motion. The other responded with an equivalent giggle.

"Are you sure you're going to call her that? She might poison your drink next time."

"Try me," Jess scoffed, "The next thing she'll know what's missing is probably her cash going to the lawsuit." The two continued laughing at their sick humour.

From the sidelines, Craig watched and was disgusted to how the girls responded to the gossip. Fucking bitches and their so-called perfect lives. He scanned the work space for something to actually beat the fuck out of her.

"Hey Jess," he caught her attention whilst lifting up a pot that he found forsaken at one corner and somehow was half empty. She turned around to meet his cold gaze, and before she could do anything, the stoic teen simply called out to her — "Catch!" — and splashed the contents to her whole figure.

For a while, the scream which erupted from her lips caught every customers' attention in the coffee shop. The girl named Jess was freaking out, spluttering nonsense about the cost of her white shirt — he could see the thin material which was now soaked revealing her bra, and he snickered at the lack of her breasts — whilst the Eurasian friend was rummaging through the contents of her bag in search of tissue.

The door which led to the staff room flung open to reveal a scared Tweek and a startled (and dubiously, a tempered Mary). The blond had literally twitched at the sight, both hands tugging his hair to show his distress and Mary almost looked like she was about to burst.

"GAH — C-CRAIG! What have you done?!"

Jess stopped her stupid mantra and gave the blond a long, creepy bitch look. "Look at your fucking _boyfriend_ , Tweek. Fucking fuckface ruin my god damn shirt!"

"GAH — B-BOYFRIEND. . .?"

"Look, asswipe," Craig held his breathe, pushing his way out from the work area and had his hands curled into fists, "I swear to god, if you said something like _that_ again, I'd totally splash you with burning coffee," the girl held her breathe, her bravery wiped out from her entire persona. Perhaps it was his face that made her spirits drained from her body faster than a bullet, "And this time, it'll be your ugly face."

"C-Craig. . ."

"You better leave now, or I'll do worse than this."

"J-Jess, let's just go."

Said Jess looked as if she was about to argue more. Her face contorted from confused to fear to anger and finally to dejection. She huffed angrily before grabbing her friend's arm, "Come on Kim, we're leaving!"

And they finally left at long last. There was a satisfaction running in his veins just as soon as the last girl stepped out of the coffee shop, however it was soon replaced with the cold fear which came from the silence Mary was giving. The noirette turned around to look at the both of them, Tweek hanging his head low which reminded him so much of Butters when he was told that he was grounded, and Mary with eyes shut tight and creases on her forehead.

"I'm out," after a long, awkward silence, she spoke with a barely audible voice, "Tweek, _dear_ , be a good boy and clean. . . that." With that, the grown woman, too, left the coffee shop to Tweek's hands.

They went into complete silence just as soon as the commotion cleared out. Conflicted blue pools eyed the hurt written all over the blond's face. Tweek looked like he wanted to say something, with fumbling fingers and the quiver erupting from his whole lithe figure.

"Tweek," the taller teen bit his lip as he flinched upon the surprised jump from the blond. "Sorry for. . . just now."

He said nothing, but the crestfallen look became more and more obvious. Thin lines of worry adding to his forehead, falling at the pinch between his brows all scrunched up to feign off his disappointment.

"G-Gah, Craig. . . D-Don't do that ever again."

"But they were talking bad about your —"

For once, Tweek stepped closer to the noirette, catching him by surprise by cupping both of his cheeks. Despite the woe flashing in bright green eyes, Craig noticed a light tinge of anger. He was angry at his attempt of helping — not that splashing coffee to a customer was helping any situation, it was more of defense. "E-Everyone talks bad about everyone, Craig," his fingers tightened at his jaw somewhat, squeezing his muscles until he felt the soft pads feeling the hardness of his the area of his jawbones as well; "Thi — This is South Park, after all."

He felt the cold hands slowly peeling themselves from his face. Craig realised the stiffness of his entire built, frozen cold against the counter. Even with Tweek's current short stature, he felt the intimidation crawled into his skin, seeping deep into his mind that Tweek was no longer this vulnerable kid back in pre-high school.

It felt like the same fear as having the monster unfazed by every actions he made but keeping its many eyes peeled to his sole existence.

The headache was building up all over again, and he wanted nothing more but to throw up. Tweek must have realised his words or whatever he was doing just then had made the taller teen uneasy. Craig was paling up as white as sheet. The blond reached out to touch his hand and peeled away when he broke out from his reverie.

"W-What?" He coughed out, shocked at his notion but didn't say a word about it.

"I — I. . ." The sunken feeling gutting in his chest with green eyes still looking at him dejectedly. Whatever happened back then, it had done Tweek a lot more ordeal. "Look Cr-Craig, whatever you did to defend my mom. . . Thanks. I d-don't need you to defend us, but y-yeah. . ."

"Are you pitying the way I look right now?"

"It's — It's the same to how you're treating me, isn't i-it?"

That never really registered fully in his head. Everything was blurry afterwards, but Craig remembered slamming his head against the marbled surface and he just screamed off. Most customers, tired of having to listen to any bullshit, cleared themselves from the shop — one person did the deed of flipping the sign to closure just so the two could have their privacy.

Tweek was fully shivering at some point, it was his turn to back away from the fuming — slightly heartbroken, triggered — Craig.

"All of this. . ." he breathed out heavily, as if trying to regain his composure but failed to do so, "You think all this time I'm doing out of pity?!"

"What was I supposed to think? You just suddenly came to me after all this years, after what happened to my mom and my dad — everyone would think it's pity!" Tweek raised his voice to be in par with Craig's. "It's not fair, Craig! All you ever did was to listen to your own self, thinking you have the right to step back in but you never really cared about how I feel! You didn't give me a choice but to follow your stupid schemes! I didn't ask you to fucking stay with me till my shift's over, I didn't ask you to help me out, I didn't ask you to talk to me back. And all I ever did was to follow whatever stupid shit you told me ever since what happened back then! And have you ever asked about my opinion?" the blond had his eyes shut, one hand covering his face when Craig realised he was crying, "You never did just because you were too egoistical and too full of yourself."

Craig took one step to close their distance but he halted before the words started sinking in. Perhaps he was too full of himself. Tweek brought himself to meet his gaze, and somehow the both of them had the same pain in their expression.

"Fuck, man. . . I just wanted to help. . ."he lowered his growl, "I never meant any harm. That's just. . . Why would you think it as a bad way?"

"I — gah, I know. . ." his squeaky voice whimpered, "But you're not doing it the proper way, Craig."

Tweek pulled in quick paces of breathes, like a therapy of some sort before continuing; "Can you leave for now. . . I want to be alone."

"But —"

"P-Please, Craig. . ."

There was nothing else he could do but to follow the plead. Craig responded with a meek nod, he pushed himself past the blond, trying not to bump their shoulders together when it came to a brush, and slid his way to the exit.

* * *

It was weird having dinner in his own house again. Tricia signaled him a questioning look to which he wasn't bothered on responding to. He noticed his parents switching looks to each other, and have that sort of silent argument in between.

"Craig, you're not touching your food?"

"I'm not feeling hungry," he groaned.

"What's wrong, son? Something happened in school?"

He glanced at his father. Despite anything that happened within his family, Thomas Tucker was overall not that bad as a father. Just that when both of his parents were in touch of alcohol or any sort of weed spreading in town, they gave their way into the monsters' delirious whispers. "Not exactly, dad. I'm. . . fine."

"Well, then. You should fill yourself up, son. I heard you're having a match next Wednesday," he smiled proudly at that fact, and Craig attempted to mirror the smile sheepishly.

Sometimes, he wanted to open up to things to his family. Back when they were children, it was much more simpler. He had a quaint life, nice and boring — just the way he liked it. But growing up as a teenager, simplicity meant for keeping things all bottled up and just kept your lips sealed.

Nevertheless, he brought up the dreaded question anyway. "Mom, Dad, what happened to the Tweaks?"

The table went into a complete pause, saved for Tricia who dropped her spoon. But his parents gaped at the question, and shifted their eyes back to glancing back and forth.

"A lot of things happened, Craig. . ." Laura said, "Why do you ask?"

"Tell me about it."

"Richard and Mary got divorced, and. . . Well, it didn't really go well. I mean, we didn't expect it to happen but. . . Richard — Richard just flipped off."

Laura intervened, "I thought Mary was the one who started?"

"Why were they fighting, dad?" Tricia was curious too.

"We heard Richard's been keeping another family in secret, that he's been back and around between two families till Mary actually found the truth. She didn't handle it very well, they said she tried to kill Richard — or it was Richard trying to swing her with a fucking pot," Thomas' voice hardened with every sequence of his gossip, "And well, before the two could almost bring their son to involvement, they decide to cut their ties off — Jesus Christ, Craig! Are you okay?"

The teenager had been gripping tight to his chullo hat, short obsidian locks covering his eyes from sight. He had been swallowing all bits of information, word by word entering his brain and before he knew it he had been crying hard. Tears dripping down to the fabric of his blue chullo, he tried so hard to regain his composure but he could not.

It was too painful to even understand, let alone going through it.

"Oh honey, tell us what's wrong —"

"Nothing, mom," he sniffed, "I, uh. . . I'm going up."

He pushed away his seat and hurried his way to his bedroom, ignoring his mom's concerned calls and his sister trying to grab his attention with her continuous pesters.

Inside his room, he found solace to his solitude. Doing nothing but sprawled against the floor, whilst listening to the squeaks belonged to Stripe. Clear from the voices, clear from the demons clouding his visions everywhere he went. But the exhaustion was clear, slowly seeping into his bones till it weigh him down to nothing but a teary mess.

Craig was still crying, just because the guilt was still echoing in his memory. Not that he was the main cause of what had been Tweek's growth, but the past had added more salt to the blond's wounds.

It hurts to even think about it.

It must have hurt Tweek even more.

"Fuck you, Craig Tucker" — he cursed to his own reflection, "You're nothing but stupid."

Slowly, he descended to sleep. Somewhat with a blurry vision, Craig thought he saw a flitting figure of a monster in a close distance.

Despite what happened, three days prior the incident, Friday had stepped into the living picture. School for the past few days were nothing but an instant blur to his memories. Craig kept his thoughts to his own self, not even bothering to talk to Kenny like the previous usual. The blond had sent him questioning looks, but he wasn't in the mood to actually come clear from certain things.

But there was one thing he was still adamant about.

For the first yet again, he had came to approach Tweek who were busy chatting with Kyle. It wasn't that surprising to see him with the Jew, since Tweek's schedule almost matched with the ginger just as his would be with Kenny's except for Astronomy — Kenny doesn't care shit about some stars.

The ginger must have noticed his approach and pointed at the taller teen as he came into the picture. Tweek did not jump for once, he turned to awkwardly meet a pair of dark blue eyes and kept his head lowered.

He was still disappointed, it seemed.

Craig felt the weight on his shoulders doubled, it felt like proposing a first date — and Craig wasn't even fucking gay to begin with.

"Tomorrow," he cleared out his throat, "Are you still gonna come?"

The blond looked at him with an awe expression. "Are you?"

"What do you mean, _are you?_ I'm asking you first, Tweek. . . I, um. . . I'm open to anything, it's not like I'm busy for tomorrow."

Tweek took a long duration to contemplate his decisions. As he looked up to meet the wondering gaze once again, he smiled weakly with a slight nod. "S-Sure. . ."

"Cool."

"Oh, and Cr-Craig?"

"What?"

Surprisingly, the blond grasped his hand. It sent a strange ripples to his spine, luckily enough, Craig hadn't been too surprised to pull away. "D-Don't be sad for me," the blond quickly said before running off.

It was like the concerns had been too obvious on his expression. What happened to his stoic face and his capability of staying emotionless? It all came down to nothing when he faced Tweek.

He remembered his words, clear as a day; _What was I supposed to think? You just suddenly came to me after all this years, after what happened to my mom and my dad_ _everyone would think it's pity!_

Somehow, a part of him wished that he wouldn't feel the exact way Tweek doesn't want him to feel. A part of him told to his own fucking mind that he was already losing the battles to his own emotions.

"I'll try. . ." Craig said to nobody but his own self.

Amidst the blurry scenery of crowds pushing their ways to class, Craig was watching a mass of black figures pooling across the hallway and just wondered why the fuck had he started caring so much.

He was supposed to get used to them, yet somehow he had forgotten the sensation of not giving a flying fuck.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Mozu : Long time no update! I've been busy ahahahaha**

 **Well, I hope you enjoy this new chapter! I'm not really satisfied with it because I don't see any progress, and well it's grinding me a lot because I really really wanna reach _that_ part but it's a secret for now :)**

 **-Mozu The Mochi (2018)**


	6. Two of Part II

**The Boy Who Sees Monsters**

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 **Part II**

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 **Chapter Five**

 _You'll know I wasn't joking_

 _When you see them too, see them too_

 _— Panic Room, Au/Ra_

* * *

There was nothing else but the sounds of crickets singing in the midst of semi-darkness. Plain greensward, the grass slightly damp from the evening downpour. From a distance, the sound of engine continued to roll until it came to a full stop somewhere in the centre of the field. Craig slipped his way out, his smile stretching wider to see the skies looking pretty good tonight, just as much as he was stretching his limbs from an hour drive.

"Come out, Tweek," he ushered, tipping his head in a motion to follow his direction, "It'll be fun."

The blond peeked from the window, the way the stars seemed to reflect the bright emerald enthralled the noirette in some sort of method. He was caught staring at the blond before realising at his own action, whipped his head before Tweek could notice and to hide the heat spreading across his cheeks. "W-Where are we supposed to lie down again?" The timid voice cut off his thoughts, and the noirette turned to give his attention to the blond once again.

"I have a mat stocked at my trunk, and some beer. You drink, don't you?"

"N-No, my mom w-wouldn't really like that," he stammered, "I — hn, I brought my t-thermos."

"Oh, okay then."

"A-And I baked something too. . ." At the mention of him baking, Tweek lowered his head as if embarrassed that he was doing some girly things.

Craig raised his brow, surprised at his cooking skill. That was something to be proud of, according to him. He couldn't even boil pasta for the last time he remembered entering the kitchen. "That's freaking cool," he smiled.

"R-R-Really? I — I always thought it would be, hn, g-girly or something."

"Nah, bring it over. I think it's sick," he said in a good way.

It took a while for Tweek to come out from his spot, situated still inside the car. Craig assumed he was calming down the bundle of nerves shoving straight from his gut; not to say that he was nonchalant about it. This was his solace, and sharing it meant a lot to him especially to someone who he was supposed to help getting rid of a large chunk of sanity-eating monster. The blond met his own, waiting stare — Tweek's eyes looked like polished gems under the dim light of the cosmos, and he simpered awkwardly before joining him propped against the mat.

"The skies are pretty good tonight," the taller teen leaned his head, the blue chullo slightly fell off from his head to reveal a tousled mass of obsidian locks, beaming softly with his dark blue reflecting a darker shade right above him.

He couldn't really see Tweek with his focus at the glistening stars; but the blond responded with an equivalent tone of — "Yeah," at him. And it was enough of an answer for now. But after a momentarily silence between those two, he felt the blond shifting his position to lie his head against one arm — Craig felt the presence of a pair of eyes watching at him.

Under the pale light, Tweek Tweak had never looked so vulnerable as he would at that moment. From those rare gleam in the large, doe eyes to the slight quiver on his lips, the pleading was obvious coming from Tweek. An unfamiliar feeling run through the taller teen, swallowing at the sight in front of him, and as much as he wanted to savour the stars, he wanted to rekindle a broken bond too. Craig wanted so much to smile at the moment, at least a light shift of his lips, but each time he moved his muscles the second after it ended up flat once again. As if he was shaking to his own anxious thoughts, Craig thought Tweek was rather infectious with his behaviour. Well, at least, when he noticed the two had their faces pretty close to each other, but not as close as it would be intimate. Alas, at the final moment, the noirette decided it was best to shift his gaze back to the skies.

"W-What?" He swallowed a lump gathering in his throat, hoping it would shove down the stupid flip flops in his belly as well.

"Y-You said you'd, um, teach how to s-stargaze," whined the blond. This time, Tweek turned to lay flat against the ground too — somehow the change of position eased Craig's heart. And Craig responded with a slightly surprised "Oh".

Craig stifled a laughter, his legs folded involuntary with every racking movement he made with his upper body, "Right, I forgot about that."

"Why are you laughing?"

"I don't, I'm not, pft hah — whoops — I'm sorry," a pause, "I thought you were upset, ha, with something. You looked like a kid, Tweek."

"You sound relieved."

"I'm not!" Craig pulled a sigh, "Okay, never mind about that — Tweek, don't pout!" He stopped when Tweek was stucking out the bottom lip when each of the time kept on lingering. The chuckles were still resurfacing from his belly though, but Craig tried his best to remain serious; "Hey, hey, are we gonna start or not?"

Tweek rolled his eyes, "You're the one who's bitching right now, he folded his arms and shifted himself to sit against the mat, the scowl thickened.

"Aw, come on Tweek," Craig whined, but the smile remained, "I didn't mean to laugh, whoomph!" — the blond nudged his elbow straight to his gut, "That's harsh, Tweek."

But the blond did not said anything, his eyes softly gaze upon the twinkling dots, watching it flickered to life before disappearing for another brief seconds and sprang back to action again. The sight was fascinating, and how the boy with a chullo hat wished for a meteor shower to come. That would be the best thing ever.

"You see that," index finger pointing out to the left side from their field of vision, Tweek rose his head to meet the indication with sheer determination of learning — Craig found the notion endearing. "Around this month, you could see Ursa Minor — yeah, the one looking like a dipper," Craig whispered to the blond as if stars were worth a secret to keep. Beside him, the blond stirred from his position but his eyes never pried from the direction he was pointing. Not that he ever wanted to admit it, but he loved the silence between them, it wasn't deafening like when he locked himself in the bedroom, his own fear speaking to him with a profound loudness entering his head. It was sickening, that silence. "Well, we're supposed to be able to find Virgo around this month."

Tweek hummed in amusement, pulling his knees closer to him to keep himself warm. The late spring still held a certain coolness at nights, cool breeze gently touching his skin. "How'd you learn this kind of stuffs?" the blond suddenly spoke, and Craig peeled his blue eyes from the horizon to meet the curious gaze.

The noirette went thoughtful for a while, but somewhat shrugged. "Sometimes, I just want to be alone, y'know. When we're younger, I'd just climb the roof of my house and lie down for hours," he grinned, "It feels good not to have people following you most of the times." _That, and there's nothing to haunt me with a fucking intense glare._

"Y-yeah, it does sounds nice."

He curled even smaller, almost burying the entirety of his face within his knees. It would be too cruel to ignore that fact, after all. Craig did not speak a word, he pulled himself to reach to the back of his car, Tweek lifted his head questioningly at that, before pulling a bundle of thick comforters and propped himself back to the ground. Draping one to the end of Tweek's shoulders, Craig huddled closer to the twitching (now shivering) blond.

They continued gazing at the skies, Craig pointing to certain directions and the blond would sporadically commenting about them like a critique of some sort, then proceed back to silence.

It was Tweek who started speaking again, fingers holding tight against the source of warmth. "Hey, Craig," he called out the noirette to attention, "A-About my mom. . . I'm s-sorry."

The taller teen crooked his brow, "Chill out, Tweek. Why are you apologising for her?"

"I — I mean," he gulped, starting to fumble with his fingers again — Craig knew it was a sign of anxiety coming to him — "You know my mom. . . You probably knew about the d-divorcement too, an — and, well, she haven't been h-herself lately." With those words leaking out from his lips, the blond pulled a morose expression on his face, "It's been different since d-dad left us, and I think mom is just. . . in denial that h-he just left, just like that."

The chullo-wearing boy didn't know whether to pat his head or shoulder or tell everything was going to be alright. Because for now, it sounded so much like a false vow — and that wasn't what Tweek needed at that moment.

So, he did the first. Slender fingers landing on a soft mass of golden locks, and he gently caressed the blond's head. He kept his gaze to the skies, for what it seemed like the longest three seconds ever, the awkward stroke remained before he decided to pull away.

"I'm okay with your mom," he said, "I understand what's going on." He hoped his words landed alright to the fragile mind of the blond — though vulnerable, he knew Tweek wasn't the one to show his weakness. He dimly remembered himself almost breaking down from the blond's monster itself. _H_ _ow pathetic_.

At the same time, Craig could somehow relate how his parents would fought like a world war was about to start. The abuse that followed through, and there would come the alcohol — the monsters seeping from the walls which whispered them the nasty stuffs.

"I-It feels weird now," Tweek sighed beside him, "I'm so used to d-dad forcing m-me with these drugs in coffee, n-now that my sole cause of addiction is gone — I, I should be feeling glad, Craig. . . But now, when h-he's gone, I realised the addiction is all by my own n-now," palms sticking out to his own face, and green eyes watched his hands like they were aliens or something, "B-Back then, dad used to force me with a lot of things — n-not just coffee, y'know, but er . ." Tweek seemed to contemplate to confess, and his words died down to an eerie silence. He just wasn't ready.

"It's okay."

The words came out of a sudden, and Tweek broke out from his trance just to found out his hands had been shaking like a madman. He lifted his eyes, a silent gasp passing through as he watched a widened, concerned gaze.

"You were, um —" Craig was loss for words, "Let's drop this, alright? You don't look comfortable, obviously. So, yeah. . ."

Tweek would have been grateful. But he pursed his lips, and muttered a low growl, "I don't want to be vulnerable, Craig," bottom lip sticking out as he pulled out a pout.

"I didn't say you were."

"You make it sounded like that."

Craig sighed, "But you're not, you're more capable than you think you are. Whatever happened back then, it has been done, there's no use to sticking to that," he shrugged and a smile crawled onto his lips.

But something seemed to be stirring with Tweek. He looked downright hurt with small, curled fists and gritting teeth. "E-Even what you have said years ago?"

"What are you talking about —"

"What I'm s-saying is," he pushed his hand against Craig's chest, and the noirette didn't know how to react to it, "If you don't re-remember anything, don't say anything about it."

Tweek abruptly rose from his spot, and begrudgingly left the field. The noirette made attempts to chase and shouted his name amidst the silence, but Tweek managed to run so fast that the taller teen decided to halt his steps and just stared at his sudden abandonment.

At times like this one, hopeless Craig didn't really know what to do. And so he spent the remaining of the night hours embracing to his own solace, wishing for his remedy to work.

It doesn't.

* * *

Everything went to square one the next day, once again. The blond, spotting him from the side glances and just whimpered away from his sight. Craig hated that, hated the silent treatment, hated the fact that he was only running in circles with this problem. Something in the back of his mind gave him these whispers, telling him he shouldn't have cared so much but his fucking kind spirit told him to do the otherwise. Craig Tucker had never been so conflicted in his life.

Oh well, he had Astronomy to look up to. He loved the class if it wasn't for fucking Stan Marsh to be having the same period with him, and there was also the snobbish Wendy. The fucking power couple in school — a douchebag and his snob, how great, he thought bitterly.

Begrudgingly, he slammed his locker hard which the other students around him either grimaced or jumped out of fright. But he was even more surprised to find Kenny McCormick having to stick his face right near his locker, and just as he shut it, he was faced with a curious gleam within bright blue pools. Kyle was somewhere behind, squeezing the blond's palm before trailing to his own locker. He threw a questioning gaze to Craig, one followed by a fleeting concern. Kenny must have told him things, with that obvious look.

"You alright, Tucker?" The blond tried to grin at him, but faltered at the exhausted sight of Craig. He knew something was fucked up beyond this point. "What happened between you and Tweek this time? I thought everything was okay."

The boy with his chullo could only groan and crashed his back against the metallic locker, grimacing at the impact but said nothing. He shot a sharp look to Kenny, scowling straight to his face. "It should be, we were fine at first," he told, "Until I bring up something about you know, back then. It just triggered him immediately," fingers snaking to the strands of obsidian hair, pulling out a distressed sigh.

"Well, uh —" Kenny sounded like he was holding something, "It is a pretty sensitive topic to Tweek, you know?"

"Well, I don't know what's going on."

Secretly, he was observing Kenny. At some point, everyone that he knew was in the scene back when they were younger. The blond must have known, he wondered, and with a slight hope, he dared to speak.

"Nothing would be better if I wouldn't remember what I said back then."

"How'd you forget about it in the first place?" Kenny shifted his brow, "Is that some kind of defense mechanism to you?"

They both exchanged glances, not really knowing what to speak before coming to a mutual agreement.

"Maybe", was all the noirette could mutter. He started gripping the hood of the parka when he thought Kenny was starting to peel off a distance, an attempt to run away. "Look, if you know by chance about why we really fought. . . Maybe, maybe it'll help a lot."

The blond remained muted, the conflict swirling in his expression. "Look," he began, "I really wanted to tell but. . . I don't know. We all kind of, um, promised not to tell you about it."

Craig just didn't know whether to feel as if he was betrayed or something. After all, Kenny wasn't exactly supposed to be close to him. They were friends of different groups, that was for sure. But if he was to look at his own reflection, he wouldn't be surprised to see the pale complexion, the colour draining from his face and how at this particular moment, he just wanted to _kill_ someone.

He felt hurt. So hurt. It felt like knives stabbing against his body, the tip of blade sunken to his very flesh.

"How great, I thought we were friends," the nasally stoic tone of his returned, in result shocking the blond himself. Craig proceeded to push past him asides, but Kenny didn't really just stop there. He felt the hems of fabric around the shoulder part grasped by thin fingers, and bright blue eyes speculating his features sharply.

"Screw this matter now, Tucker," Kenny spoke, "Look at you, you don't look good."

The noirette could only blink out of his trance. He shrugged and pulled away from the cold hand. Maybe he was getting crazier by his own.

Who knows.

* * *

"Man, it's been a _looooooong_ time since it's just us two!" Clyde chirped in with his usual vibrant mien, and the two of them propped themselves languidly in Craig's car with two cheeseburgers and milkshakes, viewing the Stark's Pond's waters.

Craig could only snorted, lifting up a small smirk to indicate his agreement. Honestly, he haven't feel good for a past few days. This very day marked the two weeks he haven't talk to Tweek ever since the stargaze. Sourly, he chewed on the morsel.

"You're still thinking of Tweek, aren't you?"

Craig groaned at the sudden question.

"Yeah, pretty much."

Clyde could honestly feel the dark aura enveloping Craig. The clear frustration he was emitting, he didn't want to admit to his friend, but even Token had been shit scared to the moody noirette. Everything around him was changing, and Clyde knew what it was about but neither of them wanted to interfere.

"It's not that I don't want to help you, y'know," the brunet started, "It's just that I can't. I promised Tweek last time, and well, I don't want to break my promise even if it's —" he swallowed, realising the reality of pain which would hurt Craig, " — even if it's y-you."

According to Craig's point of view, the noirette had suspected by now everybody would have at least kept one thing from him as everyone promised to Tweek about it. He wasn't angry about the situation after all, the only person he could be pissed to was himself. His thirteen-year old self, to be more specific.

He was an idiot before, leading his own path to the exhaustion and headache he was feeling at the current moment.

To the point, Craig couldn't even fake a surprised reaction. Dead eyes watching ahead, as he took another bite from his cheeseburger and all he could mutter was a small "it's cool".

But Clyde was totally not cool. Such conflicted teen doesn't know what to choose between his long-term friend and his past bully victim.

"It's just that," the brunet was still adamant on explaining the details to him, "Tweek's pretty much depressed on what's going on throughout his life. He just had it worst this summer, that's why. . ."

"I know, Clyde, I'm not fucking stupid to not see that," the noirette finally responded, bitterly thinking about the three-foot nightmare, "Why do you think I start talking to him?!"

"Oh."

"Don't just _oh_ me!"

"What else was I supposed to say?!" Clyde shrieked and he crossed his arms in defend. But the noirette chuckled and just nudged his arms.

Craig snorted out a small laughter, "Do I really look like such an asshole to everyone?"

Such question was pretty sensitive to oneself. But this was Craig Tucker against everyone else. And everyone always knew the noirette as this insensitive, strong bastard.

Clyde just gave him a pathetic look afterwards, and smiled sheepishly at him. "Kinda."

It was for the first time in his life, that one bastard named Craig Tucker ever felt so lonely in his life, despite having most of the school as his so-called friends. Shifting his gaze to the rear mirror, he noticed the familiar black matter, albeit small, latching against his shoulder. Sticky-looking, obsidian, shadowy creature. There wasn't anything else in the world but that one fucking thing which the teen had dreaded in his entire life. Inwardly, Craig groaned.

He was fucked.

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

 **Mozu : Listen to Panic Room by Au/Ra. :)** **That shall be the anthem for Craig, hue. Well the gist of the lyrics sound like it fits the story so yeahh hnn I'm happy to found that song!**

 **Also my semester is ending yay!**

 **-Mozu The Mochi (2018)**


End file.
